


The Wind that Cuts the Night

by thespectaclesofthor



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Anal Sex, Angst, Ball Gag, Blindfolds, Consent Issues, Dirty Talk, Dyslexia, Elliott's flowery language because why, Fingering, Friendship, Hatesex, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, In amongst the sex they are actually growing a pretty decent relationship it's weird, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, PWP, Paddling, Past Child Abuse, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, S&M, Safeword Use, epic romantic gestures, internalised homophobia - hatespeech, it's not even really a relationship (yet), oh boy here we go - Freeform, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespectaclesofthor/pseuds/thespectaclesofthor
Summary: Alex liked that they were both, in a way, failures.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. This is pretty unapologetic hatesex between a total rarepair in the fandom, so pay attention to the tags and otherwise enjoy! Should be about three chapters long. May be longer. Since I know there will be readers here who haven't played the game, [this is how I sort of see Elliott](https://68.media.tumblr.com/b7614f06be6739e8b0d6cb9984089ed0/tumblr_o4j0s7orL61usu64fo1_500.jpg) (sans facial hair), and [this is how I sort of see Alex.](http://imgur.com/xy8TWVz) The rest that's relevant has been filtered into the story.
> 
> Will eventually have the characters not being so awful to each other, lol.
> 
> Title from the _Radical Face_ song: 'A Pound of Flesh.'

 

Alex liked that they were both, in a way, failures. He liked that Elliott was a writer who couldn’t write a book. When Alex sat in his room, in his grandparent’s home, and wondered how long he could live there mooching off them before he’d go from total loser to _epic_ loser, he liked to think that Elliott lived in a shack by the sea and his electricity came from a generator and he couldn’t even write a book when that was literally all he had to worry about every day. That was it. It wasn’t even a real job.

He can’t say this to Elliott, because the one time he did, Elliott said:

‘Such pessimism, Alex! It’s all right, I’m _sure_ you’ll get your call from the scouts that never come to Stardew Valley sometime soon. Perhaps they’ll just…’ A pause for effect, ‘… _magically_ suspect that you’re truly talented, and you’ll be free of this town!’

Elliott’s laughter was somewhere between mocking and almost kindly.

Alex sometimes wondered if Elliott also liked that Alex was a sports pro wannabe who didn’t play professional sports.

*

Alex hated that his grandparents lived next to the damned tavern. The Stardrop Saloon. Whatever. He hated the place. His dad would take him there when he was younger, get pissed, drag Alex home – and it was a longer walk then, when his mom was still alive. On the good nights, Alex would go to bed with no bruises. On the bad nights, there’d be bruises or words that felt the same. On the worst nights he’d have to listen to his mom going through it instead.

Things have changed now, but his grandparents lived next door, right there, and Alex saw it when he left the house and he saw it when he fed Dusty and he saw it in his mind sometimes at night when he couldn’t sleep and sometimes when he could.

At least his grandparents didn’t drink. Alex didn’t either. He couldn’t stomach it. He wondered if his grandpa sometimes took a tipple every now and then, but he’d never seen it. Ever since his dad, none of the family drank. 

*

Elliott could be strangely considerate when he wanted to be. On the nights they hooked up, his breath never smelled like booze. Alex knew that was a choice he made, because Elliott went to the Stardrop Saloon like most of the town, and he knew that Elliott could put it away better than most when he really wanted to. And on the nights when he went past his limit, Alex had seen Elliott stumbling home.

It was strange though, because there were ways that Elliott wasn’t considerate at all.

‘Now, Alex. Stop complaining.’

Alex didn’t think he’d complained at all, but the fractured sound must have counted. It wasn’t exactly his fault. He wasn’t _used_ to being fingered yet, and even with lube it felt weird. It was only the third time, he didn’t know what Elliott expected.

‘Keep pushing me, _Elliott_ ,’ Alex snapped, ignoring how thin his voice was. ‘And you can like, jerk yourself off to the blank pages on your typewriter.’

A grunt at the next thrust of those two fingers, spearing him this time, nothing merciful about them. Alex dug his hands into Elliott’s blankets – which always had bits of beach sand stuck to them like spiky pieces of dandruff – and pushed his face into a mattress that smelled of salt and a faint hint of stale sweat. He could hear the waves crashing. The wood of the cabin creaked. Elliott’s fingers opened him up and his last knuckles thumped against the back of Alex’s ass. It ached. He’d made Elliott mad.

They were good at doing that to each other.

‘Well,’ Elliott said, and Alex wondered if the pause meant he’d been thinking of a really juicy insult. He was good at them. ‘I really don’t have to let you come, at all, and then you can jerk yourself off over all those failed grades while you were too busy caring about benching and _track._ Which has gotten you precisely _nowhere,_ and barely literate to boot. I’ll make a point of visiting Evelyn tomorrow with some freshly caught salmon, and just…mention that you don’t seem to be walking quite right. She’ll be concerned, won’t she? A dear old grandma, making sure her grandson is all right.’

It wasn’t really fair. Elliott had over ten years on Alex, so really he was the one who should feel ashamed of this. He was technically the creepy old man, even though he was only like thirty two. Alex definitely wasn’t into the age difference. That was gross. He’d _never_ be into that.

‘Maybe Harvey would offer to give you a rectal exam?’ Elliott said speculatively. He did something with his fingers at Alex’s entrance that was an unbearable stretch, and Alex lurched forwards, swearing. Elliott’s other hand pushed down hard between Alex’s shoulder blades, and when Alex reached around to claw at him, his wrist was grabbed and shoved into his back. Elliott withdrew his fingers completely, shoved them back in hard enough that Alex flinched. It wasn’t that it hurt exactly – it kind of did, but it wasn’t the worst thing. It just felt shocking. ‘He’d probably be concerned. Want to know who’d been using you so marvellously.’

‘Shut _up,’_ Alex managed, and then moaned when those fingers sped up. So fast that Alex squirmed, not sure how that whole part of his body wasn’t somehow more breakable. The first time had been gentle compared to this and the first time hadn’t been _gentle._ ‘Elliott, _seriously,_ man, come on.’

A slight easing, but then another finger, and Alex didn’t know why he bothered to say anything.

‘You’re as hot as a furnace by the way,’ Elliott said, and Alex could hear something smug in his voice, and beneath that a breathlessness that he craved. But as soon as Elliott opened his mouth, there’d be bullshit, and Alex hated it. ‘Look, you practically suck me into you. It’s almost sinful. And here…’ A pause, and Elliott was tracing the rim of Alex’s ass with his fingertips, and prodding into it, ‘like the opening of a flower.’

‘Oh, shut the fuck _up,’_ Alex snarled.

‘Like a tulip,’ Elliott added sweetly. Alex could hear the stupid smile too.

‘I’ll sic Dusty on you,’ Alex said. Then gasped as those fingers sank deep into him. Shoved forwards and pushed Alex an inch up the bed. God, Elliott was going to murder him.

Then those fingers curled down, and Alex felt the pressure of it before the rush, the sensation of someone knotting his bladder and dick together and then holding both in a fist. Pain and pleasure mashed up, like Elliott had somehow found something crucial and was digging into it. The first time, Alex had been alarmed, not knowing about the prostate, or that it was a _thing_ , that it was meant to feel good.

It did feel good. But in a way that made Alex feel like he was going to be dumped beneath a wave in the sea, and everyone would know he’d embarrassed himself. ‘Good’ wasn’t really the right word.

Elliott straightened his fingers and then curled them back again, pressed harder, and Alex shouted. Shouted again when Elliott repeated that pressure, over and over, and then it was too much and Alex tried to free his arm and tried to wriggle away and _couldn’t._ He was stronger than Elliott, but it was hard to remember that when his whole body felt like it was being pinned down beneath three of Elliott’s fingertips.

‘Mmm,’ Elliott hummed, the sound unctuous. ‘All right, all right.’

The pressure eased off, the thrusting became almost smooth, and Alex gasped into the blankets until he got a piece of beach sand stuck to his lower lip and rubbed his head against the fabric to get it off.

Besides,’ Elliott said, ‘Dusty _loves_ me.’

Dusty loved anyone who fed him, because he was a dog, but whatever.

Alex swore he didn’t yelp when Elliott shoved fingertips covered in refreshed, _cold_ lube back into his ass and then withdrew after a quick twist to spread it around.

_‘Hey,’_ Alex said. Then, his eyes widened when he felt Elliott pushing his cock into Alex’s ass just like that. Could even feel Elliott’s hand and fingers guiding it. The thick head popped in and Alex hissed, head dropping back to the mattress, because it felt like Elliott hadn’t bothered to use lubricant on his cock and the friction dragged. It’d only get smoother once Elliott had coated himself inside Alex.

‘It’s _hello,_ actually,’ Elliott said, shoving forwards, sounding a little breathless. Alex thought that was nice for Elliott and all, that he was a _little_ breathless. Meanwhile Alex was pretty sure he was dying.

He wasn’t, but here was something he never really knew until they started hooking up – Elliott was hung. He was thick, he was long, he would’ve made people in a locker room jealous. He probably skinny dipped in the ocean and scared sea monsters away with it. The first time Alex had seen it, he’d laughed – not at all hysterically – and said:

‘So I guess I’m fucking you then?’

Elliott had only winked at him, which Alex had mistakenly, stupidly taken as agreement.

It wasn’t. Elliott was a controlling son of a bitch, and Alex was chagrined to discover that he liked that. After a lifetime of listening to coaches and teachers and even his father all wearing him out with expectations he could never quite reach, it turned out he kind of dug someone taking that worry away from him. All Alex was expected to do was take it, or be a nice hot place for Elliott to glove his cock, honestly Alex hadn’t really figured that part out yet, he only knew he was doing it well enough that it was still happening.

‘Look at how you flatter me, Alex,’ Elliott breathed, dragging his nails down Alex’s spine – a warm fire that Alex groaned at – before gripping his hip hard. ‘Your ass was made for it. Look at this.’

Another shove, something like an ache in his gut that made him wince, and then a taste of relief when he realised that Elliott was _in_ and there was no more to worry about. His own dick throbbed between his legs. Heavy and aching, sore and eager like the rest of him.

‘Don’t talk,’ Alex said.

‘No? Well! Perhaps I’ll write about you, love. I’ll break my writing drought and talk about how hot and wet you are, look I think the lubricant is actually _dripping_ out of you.’

Alex went limp into the bed in some mix of lust and revulsion. He hated this. He hated when Elliott ran his mouth. When he was younger, he might’ve said: ‘God, you sound like such a fag,’ but something about pots and kettles and glass houses and now he just groaned because he didn’t want this floral, filthy talk.

Elliott was holding still, not even fucking him, just holding him in place for that cock. He did bend over Alex’s back, pressed his cheek to the back of Alex’s head.

‘Would you like that? The story of how the washed up jock with no future spread open and dripped like honey for the not-quite-writer everyone disdains?’

It was a raw blow. They usually saved the insults for foreplay. So far, this part had been something like a truce. Alex felt the lust in him gutter hard. He swallowed thickly, thinking that this was a little too close to other things he’d heard in his life. Things he’d told himself he was too strong to ever put up with again.

He shifted, felt pinned, wondered if Elliott was holding so still to savour the insult, or if he’d actually noticed that he’d crossed a line.

Alex didn’t even know if it mattered. They’d crossed a lot of lines with each other. Alex never thought of himself as a mean person, until he’d started this shit with Elliott. He tried to be good. He helped out around his grandparent’s house. He coached the little kids on the beach in the summer. He always made sure to bring extra sandwiches up to the spa in case Linus was there. His grandparents told him he’d grown into a nice young man.

One night with Elliott was enough to shatter all of that.

‘I apologise,’ Elliott whispered. His voice shook, and Alex couldn’t tell if that was from holding still all this time and not moving – Alex could feel that Elliott was still as hard as before – or if he actually felt _sorry._

‘Huh,’ Alex said. Okay, not his finest retort.

‘No, I mean it,’ Elliott said. ‘Shall we stop?’

A rush of irritation that was bitter like bile in the back of his throat. He reached up with one of his hands and fisted a handful of that long, auburn hair and yanked. Elliott grunted, his hips bucked and Alex grit his teeth together.

‘You could at least make it worth my while first.’

Soft laughter.

‘Now, what am I going to do with you? I try to be considerate… But it’s all right, _sweetheart,_ I’ll give you what you want.’

He withdrew nearly all the way, forced his way back in like Alex was stretched enough for it, and then began a punishing pace. It drove the words from Alex’s mind, made his fingers drop from Elliott’s hair and rake down the bed. It was too brutal to be worth words like ‘good,’ but it was mind-blowing, and Alex pushed his mouth into the sheets and muffled the noises he was making, even though the only one who could ever hear them this close to the sea was Elliott.

It forced Alex’s legs apart, it made him hunch in on the knot pulling up in his balls. He needed to get a hand on himself and it was awkward with Elliott pressing down on him like this, fucking him so hard. He managed to get his arm halfway down and Elliott sped up, like he _knew,_ like he didn’t want Alex to have the satisfaction.

‘Just let me-’ Alex gasped.

‘If you really want it to be _worth your while,_ then isn’t it worth fighting for?’ Elliott said. He sounded too smug for someone who had to gasp between every word or two.

It took one more false attempt before Alex managed to get his hand around his cock and then he swore because he had no lubricant and his hands were callused and it was just going to be a rough ride all round then. Even just squeezing up towards the head of his cock was enough to have him clenching around Elliott’s cock, making everything sharper, apparently for the both of them by the way Elliott reacted.

‘I swear, Alex, your _ass…’_

_Shut up,_ Alex thought, with no real heat in it. Elliott sounded positively reverent. There, that was a five dollar word, maybe he’d use that out loud some time and Elliott could put him down by saying something like: ‘Look! Something with more than two syllables! A momentous occasion!’

Man, he really needed a distraction.

He worked his cock harder than usual, forehead furrowing at the sting as his rough skin caught on sensitive flesh. But it banished the thoughts from his head, and Elliott’s cock did the rest.

‘I can’t wait to feel you,’ Elliott said. ‘When you come, it’s like-’

‘Put it on a _page_ for fuck’s sake!’ Alex shouted. But the words were enough, and a few seconds later he was trembling violently, trying to keep himself up so he didn’t accidentally smash his cock into the bed by collapsing into it. Broken noises caught up in his mouth, wrecking every full breath he tried to drag into his tired lungs.

When he came, it was like Elliott was trying to shove it out of him, each pulse coinciding with those merciless thrusts. Alex whimpered, losing track of everything, even the sound of the sea became nothing more than the roar in his ears, the scrape of his hand on his flesh that then became slick from his own come.

By the time he could appreciate having the lubricant, he was too sensitive to keep touching himself.

As he went lax, unable to help the way his muscles unwound, he felt Elliott get that bit deeper, like Alex had been holding back on him without realising. It always hurt, and Alex could never quite stop the wounded sound he made when he realised. Elliott never came when Alex came, and he never came before. At least, not yet.

This part was harder, because Elliott didn’t slow down, if anything he seemed to savour the way Alex didn’t have much energy to do anything except pant and quietly moan beneath him. The glances up against his prostate were on the edge of too much. There wasn’t enough pleasure to balance it out. But there was something to the way Elliott’s breathing got louder, to the way he bruised Alex’s hips and the way he draped his hair across Alex’s shoulders before bending down to bite. It stopped Alex from saying: ‘Just hurry up.’

Elliott always got silent right at the end, and his arms always crowded around Alex’s head and shoulders when he buried deep and spilled himself. Alex could feel the rhythm of it at his overused rim, but couldn’t feel the come itself until it oozed out of him.

Tonight, an arm hooking under Alex’s chest and lifting him – ocean swimming had made Elliott way stronger than he looked. A hand resting on his cheek, before fingers dragged over his lips and hooked into his open mouth. Alex was too tired to fight it, so he just passed his tongue over those fingertips and figured that was probably the closest they’d ever get to kissing, because Elliott didn’t do that. Like he was a hooker. Or something.

Alex had seen that in a movie once.

‘It’s positively transcendent,’ Elliott said, humming lazily into the back of Alex’s head, ‘the way you feel. The way you look. All I’d need is a gag to make it perfect.’

‘For you?’ Alex said, drawing back to let Elliott’s fingertips slip out of his mouth.

‘Tch, so cruel,’ Elliott said, laughing. Then he ground his hips down into Alex’s ass, and even though he was softening, it was still enough to stir a groan from deep in Alex’s gut. ‘Oh, but you still feel me, don’t you? Come by tomorrow, sit on the piano stool, let me see what I’ve wrought.’

‘I know you know how to talk like a normal person.’

‘And you know how to take a cock. It’s positively magnificent.’

‘Okay,’ Alex said, shifting enough that Elliott slid out of him. ‘I’ve had enough. This isn’t happening again.’

‘Oh?’ Elliott said, as Alex forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to rest most of his weight on one hip while looking casual and kind of failing. Elliott looked relaxed. His home lit by candles. He could use the generator at this time, but he preferred the candles. Alex did too, in a way.

‘Seriously.’

‘Didn’t you say that last time?’ Elliott said. ‘You came here, my love.’

‘ _Don’t…’_ Alex ground his teeth together and hunted around for his clothes. He felt dizzy. He could already feel come trickling down his thigh. It was a good thing that he cleaned the clothing sometimes at home, or his grandma would wonder why he’d suddenly taken to doing washloads. Elliott would shower in whatever pure crap was in his rainwater tank, all of it heated by _solar,_ because Elliott was a hippie.

‘You know, back in the city…’ Elliott said, shifting his hair with his hands as though to make it look as luxuriant as possible in the candlelight, ‘they’d say you were made for a _deep dicking._ The term is absolutely vulgar, but it suits you.’

This was definitely not happening again. Alex said the meanest things out in the open, and Elliott said them _now._ It wasn’t fair.

‘Fuck you, Elliott,’ Alex said, too tired to make it an argument, to make it something that stung. He pulled on his shirt, and stared at his letter jacket and felt like he’d sullied it somehow. He wouldn’t put it on, even though the cold from the Gem Sea would rip into him. It didn’t take that long to get home.

He walked to the table with the rose on it. Only one blossom, and barely managing. It never did that well in here, the excessive salt in the air bad for it. But Elliott had been so proud of that one flower, the first it had ever produced. His grandma had even told Alex about it, like she was vicariously proud of ‘that lonely gentleman by the sea.’

Alex made a point of taking the flower in his hand and crushing it, feeling the petals bruise and then fall apart beneath the force. He heard the startled sound that Elliott made and felt guilty and satisfied at the same time.

Bits of petal clung to his hand as he left, the ocean winds greeting him callously as he closed the door behind him.

*

Another week passed. He trained – though he went a bit easier the first two days after seeing Elliott. He helped out around the house. A couple of times he talked to the farmer that had taken over Pinkstone farm and seemed to have a thing for Sebastian. Whatever, they were both goths, they could be weird goths together.

If his grandparents ever heard the way Elliott talked to Alex, they’d probably kill him. Well, maybe not _that,_ but they’d do that stern disapproval thing which was just as bad. Even Elliott would feel that.

But Alex liked that Elliott didn’t _know_ about Alex’s past. He wasn’t a Stardew Valley native. He came by later. Alex was already a jock in school and doing well for himself, friends with the popular kids until the popular kids all started drinking. No one talked about Alex’s dad anymore, or Alex’s mom, or any of it. As though Alex had just sprung, fully formed, into his grandparent’s house and had no past before it.

So when Elliott said things that cut him close to the bone, that flensed his skin, Alex almost found it easier to take. Elliott wasn’t deliberately trying to remind Alex of his dad. That was something, wasn’t it?

But Alex was starting to think maybe his dad was right about him. Since Elliott seemed to see it, and seemed happy enough to say it. Not the exact words. Not yet. But maybe they were coming.

Alex wondered if that’s why he felt that urge to see him sometimes. Like a sick addiction. He needed to be told he was worthless, so he sought it out. It didn’t make any sense, and he had the weirdest feeling that Elliott would be horrified if he knew.

It didn’t matter, because Alex wasn’t going to see him again. Not like that, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I'm kind of amazed and gratified that people are reading this. :D <3

A week later, at the end of an autumn day, Elliott turned up at Alex’s grandparents house with fresh caught salmon. When Alex opened the door, he saw the basket of fish, saw the sunset making Elliott’s hair glow like he was some hair dye model or something, and he sighed.

‘Go away.’

‘Protein’s good for growing bodies,’ Elliott said, but then he looked at Alex in a way that was _meaningful,_ and it took a beat before Alex realised what Elliott was talking about.

_Gross._

‘Seriously-’

‘-Who’s that at the door, dear?’ his grandma called. She popped her head out of the kitchen and looked delighted to see Elliott, and that was when Alex knew he’d lost. There was no way he could send Elliott off when his grandma got that look on her face. So he backed up and let Elliott into the house, and imagined that he was glaring tiny daggers into Elliott’s whole body.

‘Good evening, Evelyn,’ Elliott said, voice dripping charm. ‘It’s the tail end of salmon season, and I know how expensive these can get at the market. I thought I’d drop some by?’

‘You shouldn’t have,’ Evelyn said, sounding absolutely tickled. ‘Of course it’s one of Alex’s favourite meals.’

‘You don’t say,’ Elliott said, without looking at Alex once.

‘Yeah,’ Alex said. ‘Protein’s good for growing bodies and all that.’

‘Ah, I’m afraid I don’t know much about that,’ Elliott said, all self-effacing, indicating his body to Alex’s grandma, who immediately rushed to praise that there were many different types of handsome.

_Suck up._

It was tempting to follow Elliott into the kitchen as he chatted with Evelyn, but it ached to listen to them getting along that well. He turned to check on his grandpa, who looked at him with his bushy eyebrows raised, head tilted, something as close to concern as he ever showed. Alex offered a game smile, a thumbs up, and the old man looked relieved.

Alex wandered down to his room, closed the door, and tried to figure out what the knot in his gut was. Hatred? Something else? Longing? It didn’t make any sense. His cock twitched, and _that_ only made sense because he was young.

‘Quit it,’ he said to himself.

He threw himself back on his bed and didn’t even bother taking his shoes off. He picked up one of the smaller weights he kept on his bedside table and spun it, and then passed it lazily from hand to hand, and wondered if Elliott was out there right now, asking if Alex had been walking strangely lately.

*

The door opened, and Alex expected it to be his grandma, reprimanding him for not staying to talk to Elliott.

‘Hi,’ Elliott said, and Alex turned his head to glare at him. Then went back to staring up at the ceiling. Elliott closed the door, and then a moment later there was the distinct sound of the lock snicking.

His grandma had gotten him that lock when Alex had been younger.

‘Boys will be boys!’ she’d said, and then added: ‘I thought this would be easier than forgetting to knock before opening your door.’

It had been _mortifying._ But it’d made whacking off way easier.

‘Get out, Elliott.’

‘Hi, _lover,’_ Elliott said. He walked into the room and Alex could see him inspecting everything closely. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in Alex’s room, but it was the first time he’d stayed like this. Where he’d inspected the free weights on the floor, the gridball by the drawer, the pattern on the rug. He stood in front of the bookshelf for a long time. ‘Why did you keep all your books from school?’

‘Dunno,’ Alex said, thinking that if Elliott got close enough, Alex would hit him with the weight. It might’ve only been a few pounds, but if Alex got some force behind it, it’d hurt.

He almost dropped the weight onto his own chest when he realised who that reminded him of. He quickly put the weight back on the table and clenched his hands into fists, eyes wider. Was that how it started? One day, just fantasising about how easy it would be, to be violent? Alex hadn’t even been sure he was serious, his thoughts were lazy and dark, but…was it in him too?

‘There’s almost no fiction here at all,’ Elliott said, wondering. No insults – yet.

‘No, guess not.’

‘Do you read them?’

He thought about how to answer that. He wanted to have read them all. He’d kept them because he’d wanted to do well at school and had never managed it, and had sworn that he’d somehow conquer those books later on. But he’d open them up and get a few pages in, or the words would start jumping around on the page, or he’d get a headache, and he’d lose patience with himself. He was too stupid for those books. He kept them around to remind himself that he’d failed.

Elliott knelt suddenly and drew a book out, and Alex winced, because that was the only book he’d read in its entirety, even when his eyes hurt.

_Dealing with Loss._

Alex had thumbed down pages, and Elliott was flicking to all of them. It was nauseating. No one had done it before and Alex had never realised he had a direct route to things that would make him raw sitting right there in his bookshelf. Waiting for Elliott to mock him about it was a cold, clammy feeling in his chest. He didn’t even know what he’d _do_ if Elliott mocked him about it.

Elliott turned the book over, Alex wondered if he was supposed to say something because Elliott hadn’t and at least five minutes had passed. But then Elliott slid the book back into the bookshelf and stood up, hands resting on his waist. He cut a fine pose, with his thrift store velvet coat and his hair all fluffed up and windswept.

It was too quiet. In here, the walls were solid enough that Alex couldn’t hear his grandpa watching the TV. Couldn’t even hear his grandma banging around in the kitchen. Whoever made this house, made it right. Alex was tempted to open a window, but instead he just pushed himself up on the bed so that he could lean against the wall, and feel less like he was lying down for whatever Elliott wanted to dish out.

‘The rose has a new bud,’ Elliott said. ‘If you wait a few days, you can kill that one too.’

‘Sure,’ Alex said.

‘I’m coming over for dinner tomorrow night.’

‘The fuck you are.’

‘Evelyn was _so_ sweet and invited me,’ Elliott said, grinning at Alex, finally turning to him. ‘You know, I think she believes I’m so lonely, and a bachelor to boot. I’ve told her I’m going to write a poem for her.’

‘Cool,’ Alex said, returning the shit-eating grin. ‘Can’t wait. She’s going to really dig it, all that white paper. She’ll probably use it for shopping lists. At least then there’ll be words on it though, right?’

‘Hmm.’ Elliott walked over to the bed and sat down on it. And then, without any preamble, had his hand over Alex’s shorts, over his half-hard cock, because all it took was Elliott nearby and memories of what they’d done in the past and whatever. It was mostly age and mostly nothing to do with Elliott at all. ‘Someone’s happy to see me at least.’

Elliott squeezed, and Alex grunted softly, and then his eyes swung automatically to the door.

‘No, Elliott.’

‘It’ll be quick,’ Elliott said. ‘A taster, before tomorrow night.’

‘You’re coming over for- for _dinner,_ tomorrow night. Not for…whatever this is.’

‘I’m quite certain, _quite_ certain really, that if I pull the lock and touch you right, you’ll let me do whatever I like. Imagine, Evelyn talking about how difficult it must be for me living separate from the town, and me knowing that you’re in here, like a delectable little bonbon.’

Elliott’s hand squeezed harder and it hurt then, Alex bent over himself and reached out a hand to move Elliott’s away, only to drop it for reasons he didn’t quite understand. His breathing was louder. He could hear himself panting in his own room. His cheeks already burning at the thought of this happening here. Elliott was filthy. He didn’t care if it was in public, he didn’t care how loud Alex was, he didn’t care who saw.

Alex did, which was why just about everything that had happened so far, had happened at Elliott’s shack.

‘Seriously my grandparents are just out there.’

‘Do you think that will make you come faster? Will there be more spill than usual? Maybe I’ll make you lick it up.’

‘What the-’

Elliott’s hand beneath the hem of his shorts and finding him in his briefs, pulling him out like it was nothing. Alex realised that Elliott’s fingers still smelled a little of the fish he’d probably gutted. One of the arms that was holding him up buckled, and Elliott looked smug, playing his fingers along the underside of Alex’s dick.

‘I’m not going to lick it up,’ Alex hissed.

‘No? Tch. Well, then! Perhaps you’d like to taste mine instead? I have to admit, Alex, I’ve been worried you might bite me in the past. But you have a mouth made for it.’

Elliott’s other hand at Alex’s mouth. Fingers dragging over his lips and two fingers sliding in, over Alex’s tongue. Alex went from pretty turned on to something that was so sharp it made his cock jerk in Elliott’s hand. He gasped, and Elliott got a look on his face, maybe the same look he got when he caught a fish.

‘It’s not hard to do,’ Elliott said, his voice richer than before, lowered in volume. ‘You just let me straddle you, and I won’t even expect you to deep-throat. You could use your hands. I wish you could see the way you were looking at me. Honestly, Alex, it’s like you’re drowning in the thought of it. Pull yourself together and manage some of that disgust you usually drag out before I’m done with you.’

Alex made a faint sound and tried to move his head away from the fingers in his mouth, but Elliott smiled darkly and kept him in place, thumb and ring finger hard on his jaw. Alex felt his eyelids fluttering, darkness blocking the world out. How was Elliott even doing this? His grandparents were right out there! He tried to summon outrage, and instead he felt like he’d rip himself apart to let Elliott do whatever he wanted.

A couple of minutes passed, Elliott’s fingers lazily thrusting against his tongue and Alex breathing through his nose, trying not to make any noise, legs shifting restlessly on the bed. Then Elliott drew his fingers back, saliva connecting fingertips to Alex’s bottom lip. He licked absently, broke the connection, and Elliott watched it all like he was going to destroy Alex later. He probably was.

‘Would you let me?’ Elliott said.

‘What, suck you off?’ Alex’s voice was rough and thick, he sounded as turned on as he was. ‘You talk too much as it is. Every time you open your mouth, the shit that falls out could fertilise a farm. You think I want that with your dick in my mouth?’

‘Honestly? I think you want _all_ of it. I think you want things you don’t even _know_ existed.’

Not hot not hot _not hot._

‘I’d be gentle the first time,’ Elliott said, leaning down so that his cheek brushed Alex’s and his lips were by Alex’s ear. Alex could feel the stubble and liked the scrape of it, liked everything about this, except the part where Elliott was talking. ‘I’d let you kiss it and fumble around it and eventually let the tip into that hot mouth of yours. Maybe I’d shoot on your face so you wouldn’t have to worry about the bitterness. I wouldn’t even try to teach you what it’s like to get my cock into your throat. That hurts a bit, Alex. Not everyone can do it. And even the people who can, well, until you’re used to holding your throat open… Even then, your throat will hurt, sweet thing. Your voice will be all rough and used up, and I’d shoot so far down that you wouldn’t even taste me.’

Elliott’s hand was squeezing Alex’s cock rhythmically. Not really jerking him off, exactly, just squeezing. Occasionally his fingertips would come up and roughly drag across the glans, the tip, probe the slit like that was a place he could sink a finger into.

‘I’d throw up,’ Alex said, trying to remind himself that none of this was hot.

‘You’d gag,’ Elliott said. The hand not on Alex’s cock came up and stroked his throat over and over. Alex tipped his head back, offered more skin for Elliott to touch. ‘You’d feel like it. But most people don’t.’

‘And you know that, do you? _Most people.’_

How many people had Elliott slept with, anyway?

‘You’re never gentle,’ Alex added.

‘Mmm, you may have a point there, darling. Still, when it’s in my best interest, I can be gentle. Look at how sweet I’m being right now. And you, my flower, are starving for it. Not enough people touching you, are there? Poor Alex, so neglected.’

Alex dragged his eyes open, frowning. The words were soft, but they hurt.

And then, when Alex thought about it. They hurt a lot.

Feeling like he was betraying himself by doing it, he reached down and pulled Elliott’s hand away. Then pushed him away with his legs. He shoved his dick into his pants, wiped the back of his hand over his spit-slick mouth. They hadn’t even kissed, and he still felt like somehow, they had.

‘You’re like…in your thirties,’ Alex said accusingly, forcing himself to move so that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his sneakers touching the floor. ‘You don’t think it’s sick? How do you feel? Coming in here? Doing this with me? What, can’t find someone your own age?’

‘Firstly,’ Elliott said, holding up a finger. ‘I don’t think it’s sick at all. I’ve had lovers that were much older than me and I _revelled_ in all that they could teach me. Secondly,’ he said, lifting another finger, ‘I feel _exquisite,_ coming in here and doing this with you. It’s rather like having hit the jackpot. When I came to Pelican Town I expected to torture myself over a typewriter, I didn’t expect that I’d get to torture you too. And yes, I can find someone my own age, I _have_ before. Alex, sweetheart, I’m beautiful, people find it hard to resist me when I turn on the charm.’

Elliott’s confidence in himself was kind of amazing. Alex knew he was hot because everyone told him he was, and because he was ripped enough that he looked like some of the models in the sports magazines. Elliott knew he was hot because…he just knew. There were things Elliott was insecure about – the writing thing being the main one – but his appearance wasn’t one of them. His hair was lush and healthy, he looked after his skin, and even his stupid, weird, eccentric fashion didn’t detract from the whole package.

‘You’re a shithead,’ Alex said, not looking away.

Elliott shrugged. ‘You bring it out in me. What can I say? So I’ll see you tomorrow night?’

Alex’s dick was still hard. Not as much as before, but enough that Alex was momentarily torn between telling Elliott to fuck off, and telling him to get to it. Elliott seemed to know it, as well.

‘Just get out of here already.’

Elliott’s grin widened, and he winked, and then left. The door closed behind him and Alex sprang up to lock it, and then jerked himself off in under sixty seconds, and missed Elliott’s hands on him.

Yeah. He had a problem.

*

Alex assumed dinner the following night would be awkward, but it wasn’t, because apparently Elliott had taken advanced classes in how to woo Alex’s grandparents. Even his grandpa liked him. His _grandpa._ Who didn’t like anyone, pretty much, except Alex and Alex’s grandma. That was it. Yet there he was, grudgingly talking about fishing seasons with Elliott, and Elliott was saying he’d love to fish the river with him some time, and how he had everything he needed back at his shack and what he didn’t have, he could borrow from Willy anyway.

So really, Alex didn’t have to do anything but eat. The salmon was amazing – his grandma was such a good cook – and he focused on that. Once there was nothing left to eat though, he mostly watched Elliott make his moves and couldn’t tell if it was false, or if Elliott was genuinely enjoying himself, or what. Where did the ridiculous talking end, and Elliott begin?

His grandma tried to involve Alex in the conversation, and whenever he was cued, he smiled and nodded, or rattled off some sentences. Easy enough, and Elliott would give him a look, eyes bright, as though he was just amped to be eating with two old people and the dude he hate-fucked in his shack.

_Maybe he is lonely._

Later still, his grandpa had gone off to watch TV, and Alex was doing the dishes, waving off Elliott without even thinking. He was so used to it now. So Elliott sat at the table with his grandma, and they chatted about all sorts of things. Alex was onto drying dishes and stacking them when he heard:

‘And of course Alex has grown up into such a fine lad. Like his mother, really. Bless her soul.’

Alex stiffened, bit the inside of his lip hard. The pain was enough to make him focus, but he was really just wiping an already dry plate with a damp cloth, waiting to see what would come next.

‘What was she like?’ Elliott said casually.

‘She’s dead,’ Alex said coldly, shocking himself.

 _‘Alex!’_ his grandma gasped, and Alex was gripping the plate and the cloth too hard, feeling like his breath had locked up in his chest. He’d never done anything so callous in front of her before.

‘Sorry, grandma,’ Alex said immediately. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Obviously,’ she said, and Alex turned to see her looking at him, a hand up at her neck. But then she turned to Elliott and said the worst thing she could possibly say. ‘I apologise, Elliott. It’s still a sensitive subject for Alex. You understand.’

Elliott’s gaze swung to Alex and hung there, face sober. Alex had no clue what he was thinking.

‘Just, after everything with his good-for-nothing father…’ she said.

 _‘Seriously,’_ Alex said, staring at her. ‘This is the thing you want to talk about?’ He pointed at Elliott. ‘You hardly know him, grandma.’

‘No, no,’ Elliott said, putting his hands up in surrender. ‘I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Really, my curiosity gets the better of me all the time, I think it’s the writer’s curse, trying to sniff out someone’s story. But it makes me dreadfully insensitive.’

‘You’ve done nothing wrong, Elliott. Alex, there’s no excuse for being rude,’ his grandma said, and Alex could feel his temper rising. He knotted it up hard and flung it down deep inside of him. He could deal with it during training or something, but he knew what was coming. ‘I’m disappointed in you. Elliott is a guest in our house, and a newcomer to the Valley. I’d like it if you apologised.’

‘Super sorry,’ Alex said flatly, staring at Elliott and wishing all four legs of the chair would just vanish from underneath him.

‘Of course,’ Elliott said. ‘No harm done.’

‘Good then, that settles that!’ his grandma said. ‘Now tell me Elliott about what it’s like living so close to the sea. I used to dream of doing something like that as a young girl, but my, doesn’t it get cold?’

That was the end of that according to his grandma, but as soon as Alex was done with the dishes, he walked to his room, closed the door and knotted his fists up in his hair. It wasn’t even that Elliott had been a dick about it. He just didn’t want Elliott knowing about his past. He didn’t want that fuelling the poisonous fire in Elliott’s words. It’d kill him. It’d kill him for real.

*

That night, after Elliott had left, after his grandparents had gone to bed, Alex left the house and walked across the bridge over the river, right down towards the beach. He could really feel winter in the wind, not quite a gale, but close. He wished it could pick up every rotten thing inside of him and fling it away like garbage on the sea, but there’d be nothing left if it did that.

Elliott’s door was locked, but light glowed from within. Alex pounded on the door.

It opened a crack, and Elliott didn’t seem surprised to see him. The door swung open and Alex stepped in, a gust of sand following. There was already a heap on the floor. He knew Elliott swept it every day, but when the winds were blowing like they did, there was no avoiding it. Alex could already feel it stuck to his cheeks, embedded in his hair and scalp.

‘Why are you here, Alex?’ Elliott said, voice more muted than usual. Not the mocking delight that it usually was.

‘What are you trying to pull with my grandparents? Huh? What even _is_ that? You want a family? Hang out with Leah, or go hang out with that farmer who wants to be friends with everyone, or…I don’t know, find another family to hang out with. They’re my grandparents, and-’

‘You sound like a five year old,’ Elliott said. There was no ridiculous lilt in his voice, and he seemed reproving, but also…tired? Alex didn’t even know.

Alex stood there, the wind rattling around the shack – it wasn’t even really a shack, Elliott had done it up, helped out by some of the others. Candles were lit. The piano imposed into the room as it always did. He didn’t even think Elliott played. He’d never heard it, anyway.

‘Why are you here, Alex?’ Elliott said again. And then his lips quirked up. ‘Are you here to yell at me? Or do you want to not think for a bit? Or both? I’m a convenient target for all that anger of yours, aren’t I? We both are, really. Everything I feel about myself I can place on you, because I know you’ll give it back in spades. Does it balance out, do you think?’

‘Have you been _drinking?’_ Alex said, confused at the way Elliott was talking to him.

‘No,’ Elliott said. ‘I don’t drink around you. You know that.’

‘You don’t know _shit_ about me,’ Alex said, the words bitten out. ‘You don’t know-’

‘What don’t I know?’ Elliott said, walking over to the piano stool and sitting on it. ‘It’s a small town, Alex. People gossip. Perhaps they don’t do it around you, because, well, look at how you reacted this evening? But do you honestly think it’s an accident? That I don’t drink around you?’

‘You still drink,’ Alex accused, feeling like he’d lost track of this conversation a while back, and was flailing somehow. Who had talked to him? _Who?_ What were people saying? They were still talking about it?

‘Yes, of course. Because I’m not the kind of person to find some child or woman to beat afterwards. There’s not a lot of things I can trust about myself, but goodness, I can trust that.’

‘Huh,’ Alex said. He knew what it felt like to take a few punches to the gut. Knew what it was like to finally get his breath back, but still be kind of stunned. He felt like that now, which was impossible. ‘So…’

No words came to him.

Then, after a long silence that Elliott didn’t break with an insult, Alex stupidly said:

‘You sound like him sometimes. My dad.’

Elliott only nodded, and said:

‘Do you ever think you do as well? With some of the things you say?’

He honestly didn’t know how Elliott did it. How he reached inside and found things that shouldn’t be found, and stuck his fingers into them. Alex knew some of the things he’d said to Elliott, had heard them echoing around his head for days or even weeks afterwards. He locked his knees, a shakiness starting somewhere in his chest and spreading outwards, until it reached his hands and he had to shove them into his pockets.

‘Does it ever make you feel worthless?’ Alex said.

‘No,’ Elliott said, leaning back into the piano and sighing. ‘And I thought it didn’t for you either. A game of sorts, only. Thornier than most, perhaps, but still a game.’

‘It doesn’t make me feel-’

‘Alex,’ Elliott said. Just that. Like he was tired all the way down to his bones. It worked too. Alex looked down at his shoes, at the sand clinging to them. He scraped them idly on the floor. It wasn’t going to make a lick of difference. ‘I don’t want to play the game tonight.’

What else _was_ there? Alex stared at him, annoyed. Then he looked at the rose on the table. There was a new bud. It was delicate, small, struggling. Alex could still feel the wetness of the crushed petals from the last one in the creases of his palm, even though it’d been over a week. He didn’t even know why Elliott bothered, so close to the sea, and it wasn’t like roses were easy to get around here either. He’d have to special order it, surely?

‘Why do you have that, anyway?’ Alex said, pointing to it.

‘I like them,’ Elliott said. Then his voice took on some of that playful lilt that made him sound more like himself, even though it was theatrical. ‘Oh, I _suppose_ they are so clichéd, and these days everyone prefers spangles or poppies or lilies or whatever other elegant beauties nature has thought up or humans have ‘improved’ upon. I like the rose.’

‘But you’re by the sea. You’re literally in the worst possible place to grow them. So why-’

‘If you like, you can take the whole thing and dump it into the ocean. That would suit your sense of drama, wouldn’t it?’ Elliott smirked, but the expression faded and he said. ‘I would prefer it if you didn’t do that.’

‘I just want to know why you have it.’

‘Oh, Alex. Perhaps I don’t want you to know,’ Elliott said, beaming at him.

This was ridiculous.

‘Yeah, fair enough. Good night, then.’

Alex lifted his hand and waved, which embarrassed him even as he was doing it. Elliott’s forehead furrowed, and Alex didn’t bother waiting for his response. It wasn’t like the night was going how he thought it would go. If Elliott didn’t want to play whatever game they’d been playing – because apparently it had been a game to him – then Alex literally had nothing else to offer. So he turned and walked straight back out of the shack, closing the door behind him.

A blast of wind, and Alex hissed as sand hit his face. He could _hear_ it hitting his jacket. In the distance, he could see a faint glow from Willy’s house on the jetty. The cold instantly raced up the hems of his clothing, wriggling up his pants and along his forearms, and down the back of his neck.

He found himself walking closer to the pounding surf, just able to make out the large ring of stones where the bonfire was sometimes lit during the warmer months. He stood before it, thinking that the cold was vicious, but that he could handle it. That it made sense to stand here, and let it try and push him around. He planted his feet, he felt his cheeks and ears sting from the cold, it was almost refreshing.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the sand behind him, and Alex turned to see Elliott walking quickly towards him, frowning.

‘Oh, _honestly._ If I ever wrote a book that needed a martyr, Alex…’

Then Elliott grabbed him by the upper arm and practically dragged him back towards his shack, Alex too shocked to resist. He also didn’t know what a martyr was, but it didn’t sound great.

More sand spilled into Elliott’s house with the wind, and Elliott made a sound of disgust as his shoes crunched into it.

‘The beach tries to reclaim my home every day. Sometimes I feel a little like I’m at war with the sea. And _you-_ Here, sit down.’

Alex sat on the piano stool and his face tingled from the sudden change in temperature. He lifted his hands to his ears, and they were so cold they were numb. He startled when Elliott crouched before him, and placed his hands over Alex’s hands. His palms were so warm, almost burning, like sliding a too cold body into a hot bath.

‘You’re a mess,’ Elliott said, his voice muffled a little. Then he pushed Alex’s hands back and cupped his face and stared at him. It occurred to Alex that he’d never seen Elliott’s face this close to his, unless they were doing something. The first and only time they’d had sex face to face – Elliott claiming that he was determined to see Alex’s face as he fell apart – and Elliott had been this close.

‘Takes one to know one,’ Alex said.

‘You _still_ sound like a five year old.’

‘I think you should fuck me,’ Alex said.

A flash of expression, something hungry, but it vanished behind concern. Elliott frowned at him, and then looked over at his bed, then looked back.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think-’

‘Come on,’ Alex said, staring at him. ‘When has any of this ever been a good idea?’

‘Of course, but-’

‘Seriously, what will it take? You want me to talk about how you’re a loser at writing again?’

Elliott’s fingers tightened on Alex’s face, and something soft was in his eyes then. Alex thought that brown eyes had always seemed kind of boring, but this close, they were kind of nice. He could get into that.

‘You know that if you stay, I’m not going to be gentle just because you want it,’ Elliott said, arching an eyebrow. Alex leaned back out of that grip on his face, his back hitting the piano. He rolled his eyes.

‘When have I ever said that I wanted-’

‘Then you’d best say what you _do_ want. You can tell me, explicitly, and I’ll consider it.’ Elliott stepped back, and then walked over to his bed and sat on it, watching Alex. ‘You can tell me that you want my cock in your mouth, or up that hungry ass of yours, or in your sweaty palms, or resting against your cheek, or-’

‘I _swear to god,’_ Alex said, feeling a mix of revulsion and want at the same time. How did Elliott even _do_ that?

Elliott grinned.

‘If you can’t say it, you can walk yourself back to your grandparent’s house, and I’ll have a brilliant time here on my own.’ He pressed his hand between his legs, palmed himself, and Alex watched, his mouth going dry. Who did the things that Elliott did? The dude came across like a stuffy writer who was all…poetic and shit, and instead he was like this. It made Alex’s body heat from the inside out, tingling at his cold skin.

‘Alex, darling, what do you say?’ Elliott said, spreading his legs and leaning back.

‘How many people have you slept with, anyway?’ Alex said, trying to lick saliva back into his mouth. It didn’t work.

‘Enough,’ Elliott said, dragging his hand up until he rucked his shirt enough that he just slipped it off. It fell to the side of the bed. The wind battered at the walls, but the fireplace and the heating unit combined to make the smaller space warm. ‘Why? Feeling intimidated?’

‘Yeah, like I’d feel intimidated by _you.’_

‘Mmhmm,’ Elliott said, dragging his hand down his own chest, his eyes lidding. He looked perfectly happy to be…doing whatever he was doing. Alex was shocked by it. When he beat off he just…beat off. He usually did it in the shower so he didn’t have to worry about clean up and it was out of the way, five minutes max. It occurred to Alex that maybe when Elliott took care of himself, he _took care_ of himself. It was bizarre.

‘I could just watch you,’ Alex said, fascinated.

‘A learning experience, then,’ Elliott said, meeting his eyes, lashes shadowing his gaze. ‘Yes?’

Alex’s fingers flexed on the piano stool. He was still stuck on what Elliott had said to him the day before. He’d tried not to think about it, and then he’d told himself he was disgusted, and then he’d spent way too much time imagining what it might be like to blow a dude. He alternated between ‘gross’ and ‘huh’ until his dick was hard and his mouth watered.

‘Maybe…’ Alex swallowed, and then looked around the shack, like someone was watching them. Like some idiot would stand outside in the cold and watch. The only person dumb enough to do that was Alex. ‘Maybe I could…’

Elliott’s lips lifted in some kind of smirk of acknowledgement, even as he rested his hand between his legs and his fingers moved in increments.

‘I so didn’t come here for this,’ Alex muttered to himself.

‘You’ve thrown your tantrum, you’ve marched out to the sea like a dramatic heroine in some romance of epic proportions, perhaps now you’ll let me take your mind off things? What else were you going to do tonight? Let me imagine it now. Hmm. Oh, yes, you’ll read those magazines on gridball statistics, and then you’ll furtively jerk yourself off because _I_ was there, and then you’d lie awake in bed and think about what you’ve made of your life.’

‘Screw you,’ Alex said, thinking that was probably exactly what he would’ve done. Except maybe he would’ve done some crunches and push ups and some free weights, but Elliott never thought of that stuff.

‘So, what were you going to say, my petal?’

Alex opened his mouth to throw out an insult, but bit it down. Then looked down at his feet. Shoes covered in sand. This was ridiculous.

‘What you talked about yesterday,’ Alex said quickly. ‘That.’

 _‘Oh,’_ Elliott said, standing immediately. He walked over, and Alex looked up in alarm, blinking when fingers slid beneath his chin and Elliott stared down at him, hair hanging in candle-limned curtains around his face. ‘Stand up.’

Alex stood, was pushed backwards until he hit the wall, and then felt pressure on his shoulders directing him down to his knees. The floorboards were hard, but Alex thought that was almost a part of it. He looked up at Elliott, and then his eyes flicked down to Elliott’s crotch, and then he thought that if nothing else, he learned new things here.

There was a glimmer of cruelty in Elliott’s eyes that Alex was getting used to. There was a breathlessness that came when he saw it, the way his heart felt like it locked up, the cold-hot thrill across his skin.

Elliott undid his pants with no fanfare, they were tight enough that they stayed snug at his thighs, even as Elliott pulled himself out. Half-hard already, nipples erect at his chest. Alex rested his shoulders back against the wall, thinking back to Elliott mocking him, saying that Alex would kiss it and fumble it, saying that Alex would gag.

A forward lean from Elliott, and Alex’s eyes widened when he realised that Elliott’s cock was resting against his cheek. It seared his skin. Wasn’t it too cold for Elliott? This was all kind of fast. He didn’t know why, but he’d expected some kind of build up, or… _something._

‘It’s really self-explanatory,’ Elliott said, placing his hand against the wall and looking down. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’

Alex reached up and wrapped his hand around the base of Elliott’s cock and tried not to think about it too much. Except that he was thinking about it a lot, what with it being _against his cheek_ and all. He could smell it, and he was sure Elliott would call it ‘musky’ or something equally stupid, but he just thought it smelled like a dick. He had one too, he knew.

A hand in his hair, surprisingly gentle. It sank through product and scratched a little at his scalp, and Alex’s eyes closed. He could pretend he’d done this before. That he was good at it. And Elliott would probably know every inch of Alex’s inexperience and mock him for it, and Alex still wanted it.

Well, he’d never been the smartest.

He turned his face, rubbed his lips over it, felt the twitch in Elliott’s cock, heard the way his breath faltered. It was like a switch going off in his head, that this would be more than just Elliott taking him apart, maybe he could actually return the favour.

So he opened his mouth, licked his tongue over the side of it until he managed to work more spit onto his tongue, and then he moved and licked the underside, thinking that it was mostly just salty, which was maybe sweat? Alex couldn’t tell. It wasn’t bad.

He could hear Elliott’s breathing. Normally it took longer for Elliott to sound like that. Elliott could finger Alex for ages and sound _fine._

Alex almost smirked. Not now though.

He opened his mouth, didn’t dare look up to see the expression above him, and risked letting the head of Elliott’s cock into his mouth. His lips rested around loose foreskin, the smooth head resting on his tongue. He slipped his tongue forward to cover his teeth, and Elliott made a sound, and then his hips jerked forwards.

A muffled sound from Alex, Elliott’s cock pushing deeper. Not enough to brush the back of his throat, but _deeper._

He looked up, and Elliott was staring down at him, something heavy in his gaze, almost sinister. Alex winced as his scalp pulled, Elliott clenching his fist in Alex’s hair.

‘So now you can say that your foul mouth can be so sweet when it’s sucking a cock,’ Elliott said, leaning closer, as though he somehow wanted to bend down and surround Alex completely. It wasn’t possible. Even bending forwards made his cock slide back.

Alex thought there was maybe too much spit in his mouth now, and he wasn’t sure how anyone made it look so effortless in porn, because it occurred to him that he wasn’t in a habit of just holding stuff for _ages_ in his mouth like this. Absently, he sucked the spit down, and Elliott grunted and his eyes squeezed shut. So Alex did it again, because it seemed pretty important that Elliott not _talk._

The hand in his hair went back to stroking, almost petting him, and Alex thought that was kind of nice. He began moving his mouth back and forth carefully, one hand wrapped around the base of Elliott’s cock and pushing back just enough on his pelvis to warn him not to thrust forward, his other hand flat on Elliott’s upper thigh, leg hairs smooth and flat beneath his palm. The taste was kind of disappearing behind the taste of spit, but then as he moved back – his hair brushing the wood of the wall – he got a small burst of salt on his tongue and realised he didn’t mind it.

He also realised that Elliott had all these ways to show that he really liked what was going on. Whether it was the occasional twitch in his cock, or the way his thigh muscles tensed against Alex’s hand, or the way his fingers shook as he flattened Alex’s hair and then stroked it upright again, over and over.

Alex thought he was actually getting the hang of it, when Elliott reached down and knocked Alex’s hand away from his thigh, grasping his wrist in a tight grip, while still stroking his hair. His hips leaned in, and Alex’s head bumped against the back of the wall as he tried to keep control of what was happening.

 _Then_ Elliott’s cock wedged against the back of his throat.

At once, Alex fought to push Elliott back, eyes burning, even as Elliott moved back enough that Alex could turn his head to the side and cough. He rasped for air, shocked, hating how comforting the hand in his hair was.

‘See?’ Elliott said, ‘you do gag a little. But you don’t throw up.’

‘Fucker.’

Alex had spit on his chin, and he wanted to wipe at it, but between Elliott holding his wrist up and Alex keeping his grip on Elliott’s cock, he couldn’t. So he looked down, his breathing going haywire, his cock hard and stuck in his jeans.

‘Let me,’ Elliott said sweetly. ‘What’s the point in doing this at all, otherwise?’

‘I’m pretty sure you’ll come either way,’ Alex said, turning his head back to Elliott’s cock all the same. He licked along it, and didn’t like how the spit had cooled a bit. He planted his lips along the side and made a seal, and then sucked like he was making a hickie.

Elliott swore. The hand around Alex’s wrist clamped down hard. Elliott cleared his throat, and then:

‘Please, Alex? Let me?’

_Shit._

‘It’s not like it’s gonna fit all the way in,’ Alex said, feeling himself bending.

‘Of course not, that’s something you can learn later, if you want. It takes time. Not everyone can do it. But a little deeper? I like it, you see. The way you tense around me, the way your throat tightens. I could write _sonnets_ about it. Look, I’ll compose something about it in iambic pentameter right now. I’ll write you a whole book of sonnets about how good your mouth feels, I’ll-’

Alex decided that swallowing Elliott’s cock to shut him up was probably not the wisest strategic move ever, especially since – going by the smug, triumphant expression on Elliott’s face – that was probably what Elliott wanted anyway.

The wood was hard against his knees, but even that wasn’t distracting enough as Elliott started rocking his hips back and forth. Alex was pretty sure he could squeeze really hard around the base of Elliott’s dick – or go for his balls – and that would stop him, but right now, it was something he let happen. Because it made him breathless. Because it made his gut tight and his lower back tense and his cock press hard against the denim of his jeans.

‘Like this,’ Elliott said, his voice rich. ‘Like this, not much more now. It’ll be _plenty._ Just let me…’

Alex felt his throat spasm when Elliott’s cock pressed into it. His nostrils flared. His chest heaved on a cough, and Elliott didn’t withdraw this time, and Alex didn’t shove him away. A few seconds later, Alex realised swallowing helped a bit, and his fingers splayed where Elliott had him by the wrist.

Even that was hot.

‘Again,’ Elliott said, pressing forward, and Alex’s eyes rolled back. He wanted to drown in it. He half-thought he was, with the build-up of saliva, the constant need to suck spit back down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had his mouth open for this long, except maybe at the dentist. And then Elliott was staying there, Alex’s throat working, and he wanted to heave a huge breath, he wanted to gasp at the largeness of how it felt. How it swelled past the edges of his skin and somehow contained him all at once.

He thought of Elliott mocking him, saying he was made to take a cock, but on his knees like this, he could see the truth of it. Especially with Elliott breathing roughly above him, his hand flexing against Alex’s wrist, or rubbing at his hair like he was too distracted to make it tender.

Elliott’s thrusting somehow became rougher, even though he kept that control, pulled back enough sometimes that Alex could manage a choked, huge breath before having his mouth stuffed again. The hand at his hair gripped again, and didn’t let go. Elliott let go of Alex’s wrist long enough to grab his hand and slam it against the wood, so that their palms were mashed together.

It was like Alex had forgotten there was a point where this would end. He hadn’t thought it through, and then Elliott’s hand slipped to the back of Alex’s head and held him still, and Alex thought that was kind of weird until he felt – he _felt_ – Elliott coming even before the first pulse of it spilled into his mouth. Like a thrumming through his lips, his mouth, shivering finely out of Elliott’s cock.

The taste of it was nothing as simple as salt, as bitter and sharp as a full mouthful of ocean water. Alex’s eyes widened, his mouth opened wider as Elliott kept coming, and a heap of it spilled from the corners of his lips before he automatically started swallowing.

‘Ah…’ Elliott managed, and then, ‘ah, _fuck.’_

Okay that part wasn’t so bad, Alex thought. That part was hot. A lot of it was still hot. Just – give a guy a little warning next time? But maybe the warning signs had been there. Alex was swallowing as fast as he could, shocked by it.

Elliott slipped back, withdrew his cock from Alex’s mouth, his hand from the back of Alex’s head, his palm from Alex’s palm. It felt like a knife to his chest, all those points of contact vanishing.

Alex was a mess of spit and come and probably tears – he wasn’t going to think about that part – and he hurriedly wiped at his face with the back of his hands. His knees were killing him. He looked down at the floorboards and only then became aware of the high winds again, beating against Elliott’s home. Shit, he’d have to walk back in _that._ It sounded like a storm was blowing in.

In the midst of it, he didn’t notice Elliott dropping to his knees beside him. His breath locked in his throat when hands caught his wrists and drew them away from his face, and he looked up to see Elliott leaning towards him, something intent on his face.

The first time they kissed, Alex was too distracted by the way Elliott seemed to be really into the taste of his own come on Alex’s mouth, to realise it was the first time they’d kissed.

*

Elliott undoing the buttons of Alex’s fly and bringing him off in less than a minute seemed like an afterthought. Alex hadn’t really cared all that much about coming, weirdly, and Elliott seemed kind of dazed by what he’d just experienced that he didn’t drag it out, and he didn’t sing-song filthy things. He kept his lips by Alex’s ear, or his neck, or his cheek, the corner of his eye, his lips. He breathed like he was remembering how.

*

They lay facing each other on Elliott’s bed. Both fully clothed, though Alex had stolen off to the bathroom to wash his face off, because he could feel the way his skin was drying tight and sticky, though by the end, Elliott had probably licked him clean. For a dude that hadn’t kissed him for ages, he sure liked to use his mouth.

Alex wondered if that meant Elliott would one day return the favour. If Elliott could take a dick all the way down his throat.

‘What would your grandparents say?’ Elliott said quietly. ‘About this?’

‘They’d be mad because of how we talk to each other,’ Alex said. It was the one part he’d really let himself think about. The rest was…confusing. Scary. Elliott was currently holding Alex’s hand in his own, and stroking it. Alex thought it was kind of girly – Haley would shove him if he ever said that out loud – and he thought it was kind of nice.

‘And?’

‘They’d be weird about it,’ Alex said. ‘But maybe then…fine. I don’t know. Grandpa’s never had an issue with that kind of stuff. Grandma – I mean I always talk about girls with her, and she talks about wanting grandkids and shit. They don’t have anyone else but me. And she’s already lost her daughter. So…’

‘Your mother,’ Elliott said. Alex winced, and Elliott slid his fingers between Alex’s. ‘I’m an orphan too.’

It took a moment for Alex to process what he’d just heard. When he did, he went from staring past Elliott’s shoulder into the dimness of the room, to meeting Elliott’s gaze in shock.

‘What?’

‘It was a long time ago,’ Elliott said. ‘And simple, really. There was a car accident. I was in the back, nary a scratch. Dad was killed on impact. My mother…she hung on, two weeks, and then she went quietly. I was ten.’

Alex knew it didn’t matter how long ago it happened. And he knew there was no such thing as ‘simple’ when you were an orphan. He knew that waiting while a parent hung on was the worst thing, and that nothing had touched him in the same way ever since. Even his dad, even then.

Fingers turning, he gripped Elliott’s hand hard, and thought of all the platitudes he’d heard and all the things that had meant nothing and tried to search for the ones that had stayed. He was left with syllables trickling out of his mind, and an empty space of hollow air that sounded a lot like the storm building up outside.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alex said. ‘I mean- It sucks to be an- It sucks to lose your parents.’

He thought Elliott would make fun of Alex then for not being ‘eloquent’ enough, or whatever. He thought Elliott would quip, or brush it off, or do some other thing. Instead, Elliott leaned close enough that Alex could feel his hair, could feel the warmth of his face and the easy pressure of his breath.

‘She was a poet and a florist,’ Elliott said. ‘When she was younger, she used to be embarrassed by her favourite flower, but as she grew older, she accepted it. Embraced it. A classic, you see.’

It was a shaft of pain straight through him. Alex tried to shake his hand free – the one he’d crushed the rose with – but Elliott wouldn’t let him. And then Alex tried to move off the bed, horrified with himself even though he hadn’t known, because he’d still sort of _known._ It meant _something._

‘Stay,’ Elliott said, pulling him back.

‘Shit, Elliott,’ Alex managed, the words too small in his mouth.

‘Wait, stay,’ Elliott said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-’

‘ _How_ can you even- I’m not- I shouldn’t have even-’

‘Stay,’ Elliott said, insistent, pulling Alex back and lying half on top of him, staring down at Alex’s face, eyes bright.

‘I _am_ like him,’ Alex said, his voice breaking. He squeezed his eyes shut at what that meant, what that could mean going into the future. He tried to ignore the way Elliott slid a hand beneath Alex’s head, the way Elliott pressed his forehead to Alex’s, but it was difficult. Even Elliott’s hair was touching him.

‘No, not really,’ Elliott said, his voice soft. ‘I wouldn’t have told someone like him. For whatever it’s worth, I like you, and I owe you an apology for not seeing the line between…the teasing and…some of the other things I said. I still don’t really know that line, Alex, I hardly know anything about you that I don’t first learn from the town.’

‘I just… _crushed_ it,’ Alex whispered. ‘The thing that reminded you of your mom? I just-’

His voice splintered, and he was mortified to find himself crying, because he was the one who had done the wrong thing and he hadn’t earned a shred of what Elliott was giving to him now, which felt real, and not like a prelude to some witty verbal backhand that left him stinging.

Elliott said things to him, soothed him, told him he wasn’t like his dad and then, when Alex was trying to calm himself down by just holding his breath so he couldn’t sob, Elliott said:

‘Oh, Alex, no. I have the worst timing. You’re so beautiful. Don’t cry.’

Of course Alex chose that moment to start crying again.

*

Two hours later, and Alex knew it was too late to call his grandparents to explain why he wouldn’t be there in the morning, and hoped they’d just think he was up super early to get to the gym. It happened.

The storm was muffled through the wood and insulation, but the wind and thunder rattled the glass panes in the windows, and at one point Elliott got up and placed diagonal strips of masking tape over them.

‘Just in case,’ Elliott said, before lying down on the bed and placing a possessive arm over Alex’s chest.

Alex was worn out. Tired enough that Elliott clinging to him was a kindness, and not something he felt any need to rail against. Elliott’s hair felt nice in his fingers, too. He could feel a faint oiliness from some product, and it smelled woody and sweet. Maybe one day he’d bury his face in it.

‘I just want you to know,’ Elliott said archly, ‘that going by my old standards, having sex as many times as we have constitutes a long-term relationship for me.’

‘Right,’ Alex said, thinking that it had definitely been a rollercoaster of an evening, and what was one more thing?

‘What constitutes a relationship for you?’ Elliott said.

‘Honestly, I have no idea,’ Alex said. ‘Dates and corsages? A prom?’ He laughed to himself, and Elliott pressed a kiss to the side of Alex’s face.

‘Well, perhaps think about it,’ Elliott said. ‘I don’t think you should go back. The weather is _ghastly.’_

‘Picked that up for myself, thanks.’

‘So, I suppose that leaves one last question. Under the covers, or above?’

*

Under the covers, only in his underwear, and it turned out that Elliott liked to be the big spoon, and what was worse – Alex was into it.

‘This was really not how my life was supposed to go,’ Alex muttered sleepily.

‘I’m sure,’ Elliott said, half-asleep.

The storm was brutal, and Alex wondered how Elliott slept with it. At least behind the dunes, with the trees screening them from the worst of the winds, they were safer in the main part of the town. Out here, they were exposed. Alex had seen shells swept up past Elliott’s home before. Did he ever have to deal with flooding? Elliott didn’t seem to care at all.

‘I’m sorry about the rose,’ Alex said.

‘I know,’ Elliott said. The words held no heat in them. He could have been saying anything.

‘I’ll never do it again.’

‘Alex, I know,’ Elliott said.

‘You should really warn someone when you’re about to come, by the way? Like, isn’t that rude?’

A pause, Alex’s eyes were already closed, and then he felt the puffs of air against the back of his head as Elliott laughed. A breath, and then he was _still_ laughing. Alex made a grumbling sound, and Elliott pressed closer, his hand smoothing down Alex’s chest and petting his abs. Actually, now that Alex thought about it, Elliott seemed to have a thing for them.

‘I like taking liberties with you,’ Elliott said.

‘I know,’ Alex groused. He didn’t know which part annoyed him more, that Elliott liked doing that kind of thing, or that Alex really liked it. No, the part that annoyed him most was that Elliott called it ‘taking liberties’ instead of just speaking about it normally.

‘I like _you,’_ Elliott said. ‘Now go to sleep. I had this magnificent blowjob earlier, and I’m _tired.’_

Alex had nothing to say to any of that. He lay awake for a while after Elliott’s breathing was sleep-slow, his hand over Elliott’s where it rested on his ribs. He kind of liked Elliott too.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Features a quote from _The Bone People_ , a novel by Keri Hulme, published in 1984
> 
> (Remember when I said this was going to be three chapters long? Yeah, the characters lied to me, lol).

 

In the morning, Alex was sore, and it took him a few minutes to remember that he’d not actually been fucked. Or at least his ass hadn’t been. But his body ached like he’d gone through the tension of it, and he supposed that perhaps kneeling on floorboards and having his head thump back into the wall and a cock in his mouth and bumping up against the back of his throat and standing out in the frigid cold and also crying would have been enough to make him hurt.

His heart felt bruised, and he felt he had no right to it. Facing the rest of Elliott’s home, in the almost-light that the storm allowed, he saw the rose. For the first time, he wondered if he was a poison, or virus almost, sinking himself into someone else’s life this way.

Elliott said he liked him. But Alex had loved his father.

Like and love could still happen, even when you were poisonous.

Alex slipped out of Elliott’s arms and sat on the edge of the bed, looking back at him. Elliott’s hair tucked back behind his ears and all of him muted without that constant light of mischief that Elliott always seemed to have in his eyes. Alex woke early most mornings, to train or run or hit the spa and gym or keep himself in shape for something that would never happen.

He’d admitted that to himself at some point, between Elliott’s insults and the weight of ordinary reality.

Alex turned to face the rose again and rubbed his hand over his mouth, over a faint grain of stubble. He never grew much, and it was easy to shave away. He wanted to bend down and scrape it over Elliott’s cheek to wake him. Wanted to clasp handfuls of Elliott’s hair and say something about how full and rich it was, but also wanted to tell him that it made him look stupid, and that it was just one more thing that made him stand out in Pelican Town.

Alex wanted to be good. He wanted to not be worthless or useless, he wanted to be a pro gridball player. He wanted to be able to read well and excel at school. He wanted his grandparents to be proud of him and not feel he had deceived them somehow and he wanted some of the others in the town to not think he was strange for not drinking and he wanted to not be the subject of gossip.

He wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have.

What did Elliott want? A distraction? A family? To write a book?

Alex’s hand hovered over Elliott’s cheek, and he was profoundly aware that he could be cruel or comforting. He could hit, he could caress. He didn’t _want_ to hit Elliott, at all, but he also knew it was dangerous to pretend the poison wasn’t there.

His eyes widened when he realised he wanted to be good for _Elliott._

‘Fuck,’ Alex whispered to himself. ‘Fuck me.’

After that he got up and hunted around for his clothing, and he stood by the door for a little while, staring at Elliott and thinking about a hundred versions of ‘this is so fucked up.’

He jogged home, because it was too damn cold to walk, and the rain was sharp at his back.

*

Being apart from Elliott for a few days was always fine at first, and then a constant stream of some kind of physical misery where he ached for Elliott to lay his hands on him, or his mouth, or even his voice. Sometimes he felt like he carried Elliott around with him, could feel him even when he wasn’t there. At times he turned to say something and he’d pause and realise that no, he’d run away from Elliott’s house, and they had no standing times to hang out or anything, and that Elliott might think of it as a long term relationship, but Alex didn’t know how to think of it at all.

He thought that he’d hurt Elliott’s feelings for leaving that way, but the weekend following, Elliott turned up with some wild picked crocuses for his grandma, and then entered his room like nothing had changed.

Alex held weights in his hands, was standing on his mat, and his chest was bare, he stunk of sweat. Elliott’s almost constant smirk turned into something darker, almost satisfied.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Alex said, looking towards the closed door. ‘You’re a pervert.’

He quickly put the weights down, but his muscles were burning. He’d probably pushed his triceps a bit too hard, but tomorrow he’d focus on his legs and give his arms a chance to heal up.

‘Also hi,’ Alex added.

‘Hello,’ Elliott said, rolling the word in his mouth like it was a gift. ‘Missed you.’

‘Uh huh,’ Alex said, shaking his head and reaching for his shirt.

‘Wait,’ Elliott said. ‘Do you need it?’

‘I’m not like – I’m not a _centrefold_ or something. You can’t just- If you’re looking for something to beat off to, I have muscle mags.’

Elliott laughed under his breath and walked over, rubbing Alex’s abs and getting his hand wet. Alex stared down, the skin was sensitive and his muscles twitched. Also now that he did have Elliott’s hand on him, he wanted everything else too. Alex’s breath came faster.

‘You’re always touching me,’ Alex said. ‘Do you think I should be- Should I touch you more?’

Elliott dragged his hand up and then halted at Alex’s left nipple, and began to stroke it, then prod deliberately, creating flashes of sensation. Elliott stared at Alex, looked calculating.

‘Of course you may if you wish it,’ Elliott said, flashing a quick, sharp smile. ‘But you, precious, like to be touched. And you like to be controlled. And you like for me to move you around and have my way with you, and you like it when pain blossoms in you and you like it when I chase that with pleasure and I think you’d even like it when it didn’t.’

Alex was sweating too much for Elliott to get a firm grip on his nipple, and so after Elliott tried that, he dug a sharp nail in. Alex gasped and flinched away, hand reaching up to cover the pain of it.

‘What is _wrong_ with you?’

‘Come back and let me do it again,’ Elliott said, grinning. ‘Please?’

‘You can’t just shove a ‘please’ onto the end of something like that, asshole. Like I’m gonna let you just do that again. It _hurt.’_

‘Stand here,’ Elliott said, pointing to a place in front of him. ‘Pretty please?’

‘No one likes it when pain blo-’ Nope, no way was he going to start talking the way Elliott talked. ‘No one likes being hurt.’

Elliott laughed properly then, the sound strident. He looked surprised and pleased all at once, and Alex’s pectoral kind of burned and he rubbed his palm over the place that Elliott had stung with his nail and Alex kind of liked it now.

_Damn it._

‘Country boy,’ Elliott cooed. ‘Darling country boy. But even I’ve met country boys in clubs who wanted to be whipped for a night or two. Who wanted to be stuffed and filled every which way until they could no longer tell up from down and their gaze begged me to pin them down with pain if only so they could be pinned down by _something._ You ask me so often how many people I’ve slept with but you never seem to ask why I like the things I do. Is it because you don’t want to know how perfectly you mirror me?’

Alex stared at him.

_Whipped? What the fuck?_

‘Now stand here,’ Elliott said, pointing again. ‘And let me hurt you again. Let me play you, Alex. I’m far better at that, than the piano.’

Alex walked towards him reluctantly, like he was under a spell. Elliott lifted his hand, grasped Alex’s wrist and drew his arm away where it protected his nipple. And then, meeting Alex’s eyes and smiling, he dug his nail in again – harder this time – and Alex made a sharp noise in the back of his throat and didn’t move, and thought he already didn’t know up from down, and he’d long needed to be pinned down by something.

‘You are special,’ Elliott said, like it was a throwaway sentence, like it was random praise. But the words made Alex moan softly, and Elliott leaned towards him and placed his mouth against Alex’s ear. ‘I don’t like it when you run out on me in the morning, Alex. And I want you to stay the night again.’

‘You do?’

Elliott softly ran his fingers over Alex’s nipple to soothe it, and then dug his nail in again. Alex hunched forwards, his forehead hitting Elliott’s shoulder. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t. _It wasn’t._

‘You’re a mess,’ Elliott said again, ‘but I’d like you to be my mess. Would you like that?’

‘Maybe?’ Alex said, with nothing filtering his response, pain dragging all the other words away. ‘But I’ll keep hurting you.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘Sometimes,’ Alex gasped, as Elliott went back to rubbing, and even that was too much. He was hard. He wanted to get a hand between his legs, but he felt like he shouldn’t, when Elliott was running the show. ‘Sometimes, yeah.’

‘What did I just do to you, Alex?’

‘Uh,’ Alex said, and then kept his head faced down and closed his eyes as Elliott’s hand stroked over his ribs, his abs, played with the hem of his shorts. ‘You hurt me. It doesn’t make me hurting you okay.’

‘What a relief. Do you want to be my mess? Should I stop touching you? Well, I suppose this must be distracting. I have to admit it’s hard to not touch you when I see you. Shall I abstain? That would hurt me too. Be kind, Alex.’

Alex looked up, and Elliott seemed playful. But there was a seriousness there too.

‘Yes,’ Alex said hoarsely. ‘I want to be yours.’

He’d not thought it through. He’d meant to say it differently. Elliott’s eyes had flown open and Alex opened his mouth to apologise but couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

‘Well!’ Elliott said, eyebrows pulling together, like Alex had done something impressive and shocking all at once. ‘I suppose that’s something.’

‘Yeah?’ Alex said. ‘So what now? Long term relationship?’

Elliott stopped petting Alex’s stomach and lifted up and cupped Alex’s cheek and jaw with a sweat covered hand. Alex’s sweat.

Alex grimaced at it.

‘How about we try being friends first?’ Elliott said.

‘Shit,’ Alex said, staring at him. His lips lifted in a half-smile. ‘This is gonna be a disaster.’

Elliott grinned.

*

They met up by the fountain a few days later, and Elliott had a notepad and pen in case – as he said – he had any ideas for a poem or story and as soon as Alex had seen it he’d guffawed and said:

‘I’ve never seen you write a fucking word in your entire life.’

It had entitled Elliott to respond in kind, and they’d verbally sparred until Alex was exhausted and felt like exercising for any reason at all – not just to be a sportsman – and Elliott looked tired.

In the end, Elliott had handed him the notepad and the pen and said:

‘A blank page is intimidating. Write something.’

So Alex had opened the notepad and stared down at the blank page and his hand clenched on the pen. Okay, maybe it _was_ hard. But it was only hard because it was Elliott’s notepad and because he wanted to write something that counted. Would be inspirational. Writing was less intimidating than reading, but he’d have to keep the sentence short if he didn’t want his head to hurt.

So he wrote:

_I’ll blow you later._

He closed the notepad carefully, handed it back to Elliott, and Elliott opened it and stared down and didn’t laugh like Alex expected. When Elliott met his gaze, Alex suddenly realised that his joke was going to become a reality.

He was definitely going to be blowing Elliott later.

*

Then it was snowing nearly every day, and they couldn’t hang out by the fountain and Alex wouldn’t go to the saloon, and the library was kind of uncomfortably quiet and it left Elliott’s house and Alex’s bedroom. So they spent a lot of time at Elliott’s house, and Alex kept staring at the pathetic rose that was always struggling to do anything at all. His grandma would fret over it. But it had fertiliser, and its soil looked moist, and it wasn’t overwatered.

It was the ocean. Elliott was clearly at war with it, in more ways than one.

Elliott was reading some ancient book from the library called _The Bone People_ – creepy – and Alex was pressing random notes on the piano. It wasn’t in tune. One clanged. Alex remembered some basic scales from his childhood though. He’d gone through them all, and now just pressed down on keys that played the nice notes. The ones he liked best.

‘You have an ear for music,’ Elliott said, as he turned another page. He read so fast. Alex didn’t know how he did it. His eyes moved so quickly, and he never got headaches. Alex turned to watch him read and wondered if he was pretending, because he was so good at it.

‘Nah,’ Alex said. ‘Maybe. But nah. Sam does. You should hear him play. Him and Sebastian and stuff. They’re gonna do a performance some time. Haley said they’re good. She hears them all the time.’

‘She lives next door? She must find that dreary.’

‘I think she likes it,’ Alex said. ‘Sam’s good about it.’

‘So Sam has an ear for music and therefore you can’t?’ Elliott said again. Was he reading _and_ talking to Alex? Was that possible?

‘Why are you so good at reading?’ Alex blurted. Then he grit his teeth and leaned back a little. Except he leaned back too much, his side hit the keys, and the piano made a ghastly noise as a result. Alex put his hand on the frame, as though he could stop the notes from echoing together.

‘I do it a lot,’ Elliott said. ‘I’ve done it all my life. You could be good at it too.’

‘No,’ Alex said. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can,’ Elliott said, sighing, lowering the book like he was exasperated.

It woke something stinging in his chest. Teachers standing over him after school and saying:

_If you just tried harder, Alex. We know you’re bright. Perhaps if you just applied yourself._

‘I fucking _can’t,’_ Alex said, feeling like he was lying, even as he knew he wasn’t lying. Maybe if he _did_ just apply himself, or try harder, or…whatever. But Elliott had dug a knife into him, and Alex wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t. ‘We can’t all be miracle readers or whatever. Some of us were just born to be dumb, okay?’

Elliott stared at Alex, frowned, and then marked his page with his bookmark and set it aside on his bedside table. Alex rushed to beat Elliott to whatever he was going to say next.

‘Don’t tell me I’m not,’ Alex said. ‘I know. And _you_ know. You’ve said it enough.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ Elliott said carefully.

‘Yes, you have!’ Alex exclaimed. ‘I know you think I’m stupid.’

‘Alex, I have never called you dumb,’ Elliott said, sitting upright, away from the headboard. ‘Look, I know we’ve said an awful lot of things to each other in the heat of the moment but I also remember _what_ I’ve said, and I’ve not said that to you.’

‘Then you- You said…’ Alex trailed off, mind racing. ‘But you’re so smart.’

Elliott’s eyebrows lifted. Alex felt like this conversation wasn’t following any of the maps or patterns it was supposed to, and then he felt sick, and he didn’t know why. He rallied and said:

‘You’ve said I’m barely literate. Those are your words. And it’s true. Okay? Don’t pretend you don’t think I’m stupid.’

Elliott rubbed at his forehead, looked frustrated, and Alex grit his teeth and thought that this whole friendship thing was going _great._

‘I was wrong to say that,’ Elliott said, dropping his hand. ‘It was when I thought that I was being dizzyingly clever, not cutting you with what I was saying. Or at least, not cutting _deeply.’_

‘But you weren’t,’ Alex said. ‘Because it’s true.’

‘No,’ Elliott said sharply, standing. ‘ _Alex,_ this is- Wait a moment. Let me think.’

Alex didn’t really want to say anything at all, so it was easy to shut up.

‘Here,’ Elliott said, pointing over to the bed. For a moment – an alarming moment that was both anxiety and arousal – Alex thought they were going to fuck. But then Elliott said something that was the best boner killer Alex could think of: ‘Read something to me. From my book.’

‘What? No,’ Alex said. ‘I’m barely literate, remember?’

‘Yes, yes, all right, now come over here and lie next to me, and read something.’

‘Elliott, this is stupid.’

‘Then it’s stupid, now come and indulge me.’

Alex grit his teeth. And then, spitefully, he turned and slammed his forearm down on the piano and about fifteen keys chimed out discordantly, including the one that clanged. Elliott stared at him and Alex glared back. Beneath his anger, he was afraid, and he couldn’t say anything about it, because no one was afraid of reading.

So he got up and walked over to the bed and threw himself on it, and Elliott came back and lay next to him, leaned into him, and picked up the book, and Alex almost swore at him. Elliott handed him the book.

‘This is stupid,’ Alex said again. The cover was slightly curved in his hands, the pages were yellowed. The title wasn’t so hard to read, because the font was large, and it was only three words outside of the author’s name. Titles were the easy part.

He opened the book to where the bookmark was, and stared at the inside of it in dismay. At least his textbooks had bigger writing, and didn’t squish all the letters down into tiny, dense paragraphs. Immediately, all the words swum together and Alex squinted at them, and then bit the inside of his lower lip. He was just going to read a sentence and finish this and instead a shaft of pain spiked into his head even as he felt queasy. His throat made a noise, and he screwed his eyes shut.

‘Alex?’ Elliott said, sitting up more. Alex felt he was still staring at the page, willing the words to coalesce together into something he could say with some confidence. Some of the words were really long, he knew that much. But he knew he was fucked when the page seemed filled with a million letter ‘o’s.’ It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. ‘Alex, what’s wrong?’

‘I can’t,’ Alex said, laughing, shoving the book away. He leaned forwards and dug his fingers into his head and winced, because he could still feel the words swirling around in his head, meaning nothing at all. ‘My head hurts.’

A hand coasted over his hair, and then rested carefully on his back.

‘Your head hurts?’

‘I told you that this was stupid,’ Alex said. The words felt clumsy in his mouth. Sometimes this happened. A bad page, and even language would swim together afterwards. But at least he could speak.  

‘Are you dyslexic?’

‘What?’ Alex said, turning to stare at him. ‘What’s that?’

Elliott stared at him, and then stared at the book, and then stared at Alex again.

‘You don’t know what dyslexia is?’ Elliott said, and Alex swore that one day he’d just claw Elliott’s face off, for constantly rubbing his intelligence in. Like, everyone got it, _everyone_ in the town got it; Elliott was smart. Elliott lived at the library. Elliott was gonna write books one day. Or some shit.

‘What the fuck is it?’ Alex said.

‘It’s a learning disability,’ Elliott said. ‘No, Alex, it’s… It’s just a thing that some people are born with. It doesn’t mean anything about how smart you are. It doesn’t mean _anything_ about your intelligence. It just means- Also you may not be. Do words move around on the page? Or flip around? Did you have headaches a lot at school?’

Alex’s hands dropped from the top of his head.

‘Maybe?’ Alex said, not willing to commit to the fact that yeah, all of that was really familiar. Well the words didn’t flip around, but they didn’t stay where they were supposed to, either.

‘Country towns, I _swear,’_ Elliott said, sounding abruptly furious. ‘ _Who_ were your teachers?’

‘What? I don’t have a _learning disability,’_ Alex said. ‘I’m not fucking _disabled.’_

‘I’m dreadful at talking about this,’ Elliott said, his voice turning wry, enough that some of Alex’s spite was bleached away. ‘Alex, here, look. You’re not stupid. I want to try something. Can I read some of the story to you?’

‘That would be way better, thanks,’ Alex said, unable to get the bite out of his voice. He felt tormented. He lay flat on the bed and stared up at the ceiling and folded his arms. He was having – as his grandma would say – a ‘sulk.’

Elliott touched Alex’s hair gently, and then opened the book, and Alex closed his eyes, because the last time someone had read to him, his mom had been alive.

‘The boy has scoured the beach, gathering shells and seasmoothed glass: tidewashed bones and old seagull feathers; poppable pieces of bladderwrack and dead dried crabs. And stones…the kind with holes in them, bored by pholad or paddock, or ground out by other stones. Wounded stones, losers in the tidal wars, soon to become sand except for the urchin’s intervening hand.’

The book talked like Elliott did.

His mom had read children’s stories to him – Alex remembered all of them. There were whole passages of The Velveteen Rabbit he could recall from heart. She would have read his school texts for him, but for his embarrassment, and his insistence that he could do it, and then later, his knowledge that she was too sick to do it anyway, and she didn’t need to know how he was faring in school.

‘Wounded stones,’ Alex said quietly, because he liked that.

‘Yes, it’s beautiful isn’t it?’

So Alex couldn’t quite help himself, and he said:

‘The boy has scoured the beach, gathering shells and seasmoothed glass: tidewashed bones and old seagull feathers; poppable pieces of bladderwrack – Elliott, I don’t know what that is.’

‘I’m not sure I do either,’ Elliott said quietly. Then, hushed: ‘Alex, how could you believe you’re stupid?’

Alex opened his mouth, and Elliott placed his fingers over it to quieten him and Alex said from beneath them:

‘Maybe don’t ask a dude something and then shut him up, I’m going to bite your fingers off.’

‘I know the answer to my own question,’ Elliott said. ‘Your father. And, I suspect, your poorly equipped school. And likely, the world expecting you to read like they do, to learn as they do. I think I’m going to get you some audiobooks.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Would you mind? You don’t have to listen to them.’

‘No, I…’ Alex hesitated, and then reached up and held Elliott’s hand over his mouth. Kept his fingers in place. He liked the way his lips brushed against them. And he was embarrassed. ‘My mom used to read to me. Maybe…you could sometimes. If you wanted to.’

‘I love the sound of my own voice enough that I think it will work out,’ Elliott said, and then laughed.

‘I _can_ read,’ Alex said.

‘I know you can,’ Elliott said, as though he’d never doubted it. ‘But you shouldn’t have to hurt yourself to learn things from books. Sometimes you’ll have no choice, of course. But in the meantime, well. Wounded stones indeed. It’s sickening, when I think about it. And you have a wonderful mind for words when you hear them, don’t you? And that ear for music. I wonder if it’s connected? You even remembered that I’d called you barely literate, precisely that. Can you recall all our arguments with that clarity?’

‘I dunno,’ Alex said. He probably could. He didn’t care to. He already recycled enough of Elliott’s insults that he didn’t want to search for them and see they were floating all on the surface of his mind, like bright, mucky leaves.

‘Did you learn better in classes where material was read out loud?’

‘Yeah, but you know, after a certain age, that’s kid stuff. Right?’

Elliott opened his mouth to keep talking, but Alex was profoundly tired of the subject, and opened his mouth and drew three of Elliott’s fingers deep. Elliott massaged his tongue, didn’t speak, and Alex thought that maybe the afternoon could be salvaged from whatever wreckage it had become.

*

Elliott reading to him became a staple. Alex couldn’t even be bothered feeling mortified over it, because it was nice, and Elliott clearly loved doing it. Alex took some of his textbooks over to Elliott’s house, the subjects he’d most wanted to learn, and felt as though doors that had been slammed shut, locked and barred to him, swung wide open on the lilting cadence of Elliott’s voice. He read like he was a professional at it, and when Alex said that one day, Elliott just shrugged and said:

‘I used to do readings.’

Alex had no idea that professional reading was a _thing,_ but apparently it was.

‘Readings?’ Alex said, awed. ‘Just, for people? Like you do for me?’

‘Mm,’ Elliott said, eyes gleaming. ‘My mother taught me how. Poetry readings are their own culture, and you can sing the words to life if you learn to let them live in your mouth and your breath. Then, when I was learning how to write at university, we had a reading group every week. Sometimes there’d be a well-known poet or writer there. Often we shared from what we’d written that week.’

Elliott went quiet then, and looked away. Alex watched him, and realised it’d probably been some time since Elliott had anything of his own to read to others. Alex fidgeted.

‘Maybe you can read me something you’ve written one day.’

‘Oh, Alex,’ Elliott said, voice scornful. ‘Don’t pretend now that just because we have smoothed over some of our issues you think I can write _at all._ Shouldn’t abandon honesty now, should we?’

Alex stared at him, and picked at the blanket on Elliott’s bed. They hadn’t fucked in about a week. Every time Alex came over, he wanted to hear Elliott reading to him, and Elliott seemed to enjoy doing it. He did it until he coughed sometimes, and he had to sip at tea. So now they sat here fully clothed, and Alex made a valiant attempt to try and mend something that maybe he hadn’t broken, but had certainly not helped heal.

‘Why…do you think you can’t write here?’ Alex said.

‘I felt so empty when I came here,’ Elliott said, smiling a little, though the expression wasn’t bitter. Alex felt relieved that Elliott was talking to him now, not mocking him. ‘I thought the town and the beach would fill me up. That I would be filled to overflowing with scents and sights and textures and tastes, and the words would spill. It feels like that sometimes, you know. Mother would talk about pouring herself onto the page, and I would think it was like that. But when I came here, I loved it, but I was too empty to be filled with words. I thought I had a great novel in me.’

‘Sounds serious. Might need surgery.’

Elliott blinked at him, and then laughed belatedly. ‘That would be easier, I think.’

‘So what were you writing before?’

‘Poetry, mostly,’ Elliott said. ‘I won some competitions. Hubris followed.’

‘Sounds like a fungal infection.’

Elliott laughed again, and Alex shrugged. There were a lot of words he didn’t know. Sometimes he liked to make jokes out of it.

‘That would be easier too,’ Elliott said, as though touched by Alex’s comment. ‘No, Alex, I have no story to tell. I thought I did. I can’t even decide on _genre!_ Revolting. I loathe that typewriter.’

‘Why not just write poems again?’ Alex said.

‘What?’

‘I mean they’re gay and everything, because _poetry,_ but that’s really perfect for you, and then you don’t have to come up with some ‘great novel’ or some bullshit, because like, you’d only need a few lines for a poem, right?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Just write some,’ Alex said. ‘At least then you’ll have written something, and you can go back to pulling yourself apart because of like, the ‘great novel.’’

Elliott stared at him, and Alex shrugged because he was literally the worst person to give writing advice. Him, give writing advice to Elliott? Ha. No.

‘What’d you used to write poems about?’ Alex added. ‘Nature and shit?’

‘Sometimes,’ Elliott said. ‘Whatever I liked. I went through a semester largely writing very salacious erotic poetry, thinking to embarrass a Professor who I did _not_ enjoy, only to discover that he had written an entire corpus of erotic poetry under a nom de plume, that put mine to shame. Still, it gave me something to aim for. I think he framed one.’

‘Erotic poetry?’

What the fuck world had Elliott come from and why had he abandoned it to come to Pelican Town, of all places? It sounded like he could fuck whoever he wanted, read whatever he wanted, get his sex poetry framed and live the nerd high life. Who left that?

‘You could just write down half the shit you say to me,’ Alex said. ‘And change the spacing or whatever, and there you go.’

‘Oh, Alex,’ Elliott breathed, and Alex’s chest did that ‘thump’ thing that meant it had flipped over and he was fucked. Literally or figuratively, but one of them. He knew what figuratively meant now, after Elliott had read the definition to him. ‘Are you saying you _like_ the filthy things I say to you? That they’re lyrical and poetic to you? That I speak _poetry_ to you?’

‘No,’ Alex said slowly, a little horrified at the way Elliott had put the book on the drawer and was turning to him with something famished in his eyes. ‘No, Elliott, poetry is fucking gay.’

‘I’ll remind you of that when you’re taking my cock up your ass,’ Elliott said. ‘Except you often forget how to talk when that happens.’

Hands at Alex’s shoulders, pushing him down to the bed and keeping him there. And then Elliott was muscling in between Alex’s legs, and reached down to curl his hand around the inside of Alex’s thigh and spread him wider. Enough that it pulled. Alex gulped. An honest to god gulp.

‘You’re the _worst,’_ Alex said, hearing the whine in his voice and knowing that yeah, he was figuratively fucked, and about to be literally fucked too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter absolutely champions the ‘rough sex’ and ‘consent issues’ tags. Remember when I said this wasn’t a healthy relationship? Um. 
> 
> Also I’ve updated the tags to include S&M, because this is very much a relationship between a sadist and a masochist.

 

Alex was at Elliott’s house. It was raining hard outside, so no one was at the beach, even though it was late afternoon. Alex poked at the rose leaves. They were yellowing. Too much water? His grandma would know for sure. The rose wasn’t getting enough sun. It was winter, it didn’t know when to flower, it was pretty stunted. Alex wondered if Elliott was just prolonging an inevitable death. Didn’t roses need full sun? This one looked like it did.

‘This rose has had it,’ Alex said.

‘Stop poking it, then. Perhaps it’s withering beneath your ‘gentle touch.’’ Elliott continued wiping down the bench at his small kitchenette. But he watched Alex.

Alex poked it again.

‘It’s not getting enough sun.’

‘It’s _winter._ There’s cloud cover from here to Zuzu. What am I supposed to do the rest of the time? The ocean winds basically sandblast it.’

Elliott was in a petulant mood. Alex was starting to realise that Elliott didn’t just have one mood of ‘down to fuck.’ He actually had multiple moods. He was rarely genuinely angry, or if he was, it was masked behind condescension and a smirk. He was sometimes quiet or muted, and then his voice became flatter and he’d be less descriptive or _poetic_ and he’d not always be in the mood to hang out. Even when they’d planned it. Sometimes he was playful, which was always when Alex needed to be on his guard, because Elliott in a playful mood usually meant Alex being exhausted at the end of it.

Elliott’s petulant mood was annoying. He could be meanest when he was like this. He’d been like it since Alex let himself into Elliott’s place.

Alex picked up the pot and looked to see if the plant was root-bound. He knew that was bad. But it didn’t look root-bound.

‘Put it down,’ Elliott said. ‘Stop fussing with it.’

‘Nope,’ Alex said.

‘Just leave it alone.’ Elliott’s voice was harder now, and Alex turned around and kept the pot in his hands, raising his eyebrows.

‘What, don’t trust me with it?’ He passed the pot from hand to hand. He had a good grip on it, but he was being a dickhead. He’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, and the farmer from Pinkstone had come round to give presents to his grandparents but not him – which seemed to happen a lot – and Alex was kind of getting tired of it.

‘Alex,’ Elliott said quietly, placing the cloth down. ‘I’ll punish you.’

Those words, if Alex had heard them as a kid, would have had him terrified. As it was, hearing them delivered from Elliott’s mouth, he felt a knot of apprehension and anticipation, like he couldn’t ever untangle the two. He gripped the pot in both hands, stared at Elliott. He didn’t even really know what punishment meant. Elliott could be _punishing_ even when he was giving Alex what he wanted.

‘How?’ Alex said.

‘Mm, well, do you think this is a negotiation? Are you going to find out what I might do, so you can decide if you want me to do it? I’m telling you, Alex, don’t play with me today. I’m already imagining what you’ll look like bruised, broken, crying, and still loving it. Put the rose down.’

Alex started to put it back down on the table, because he was chilled with tension and indecision. Because this side of Elliott was a side he’d only seen a couple of times, and he _believed_ that Elliott wanted to see Alex in pain, and that he loved that as much as he loved the rest of it. Sometimes Alex wanted it, sometimes he didn’t, and sometimes he wanted Elliott to make the decision for him, to decide how it would be.

So Alex put the rose back down on the table, and straightened.

‘Look at that. So you can be good,’ Elliott said, looking almost disappointed.

Alex reached out – while staring at Elliott – and poked the rose. Then, as Elliott’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief, Alex said:

‘It’s gonna die anyway.’

Elliott slammed the cloth down on the bench and stalked forwards, and Alex let out a burst of laughter that wasn’t humour, but tension releasing, because it was spiking too high. Elliott’s expression darkened at that, and Alex realised that he was in the shit. This was all really familiar, and yet not, at the same time. How wrong was it, that this reminded him of his childhood? How wrong, that his mouth was dry and he wondered for just a split second if Elliott would strike him?

Fingers sharp at his jaw on both sides, and Alex bared his teeth even as Elliott’s other hand came up and fisted in Alex’s shirt, hauling him a foot forwards. The show of strength had Alex gasping, the sound eaten out of Alex’s mouth a moment later as Elliott crushed lips to his. It _hurt._ Teeth biting into Alex’s lower lip, his top lip, and those fingers at his jaw were merciless. Alex grunted out a sound of pain, and Elliott groaned like that was all he’d been waiting for.

The hand at his jaw dropped down between Alex’s legs and squeezed hard enough that Alex’s arms flew up – he remembered he had them – and he pushed weakly at Elliott’s chest.

‘I did warn you,’ Elliott said, squeezing again.

Alex’s hands clenched into Elliott’s shirt. His legs weren’t going to hold him up at this point. Dumb, he normally didn’t have to worry about that at all. But his mouth was still throbbing from the bites, his jaw ached, and Elliott made sure that he’d managed to get his fingers around Alex’s balls too, and soreness was simmering upwards into his gut. Maybe he was a little turned on, maybe, but he was also alarmed. A _lot_ alarmed.

‘Elliott-’

Alex was jerked forward until his chest pressed into his own arms against Elliott’s chest, and Elliott leaned in.

‘If you need me to stop, say ‘Red,’ Elliott said into his ear, ‘and otherwise, _shut up.’_

Elliott dragged him over to the bed and Alex let it happen, because he was strong enough that he could’ve just planted his feet. If they ever seriously wrestled, Alex knew he’d win, even if Elliott made him work for it. Elliott might be stronger than he looked, but Alex was _strong._

Still, Alex panicked a little when he was pushed onto the mattress, hands coming out to catch himself, and Elliott already pushing him forward before he was ready. Then a fist knuckling down between his shoulder blades and shoving him chest first into the bed, even as Elliott’s other hand worked at Alex’s belt. It was clumsy, the buckle clinking, but Alex didn’t move as Elliott removed it and then pulled his jeans down until they were stuck around his thighs.

Ass bared, and Alex tried twisting sideways, only to have Elliott stop him bodily. A sharp stinging slap on the outside of his thigh, and Alex gasped, and then opened his mouth to protest. His voice died when Elliott bit him on one of his ass cheeks, hard enough that Alex swore and dragged one of the pillows over his head without thinking. With the mood Elliott was in, Alex was probably going to start loud and finish with his voice broken.

‘Stay still,’ Elliott snapped, ripping the pillow away. Then, he leaned over the side of the bed.

A heavy grinding sound, and Alex turned his head in confusion, wanting to know what it was. It sounded like a trunk or something, and Elliott swore a couple of times, before there was the distinct sound of latches clicking open. It _was_ a trunk. Then the sound of Elliott rifling through whatever he’d opened, and the sound of something thumping onto the bed by Alex’s head.

A black velvet bag, something inside of it. That was all Alex saw. Elliott reached over Alex, opening the familiar drawer by his bed that held the condoms and lube. Alex wondered if it had always held that. If Elliott was a man prepared, given how easily he seemed to think he could get laid. Okay, well, the lube was for beating off. But the condoms – did Elliott just expect to find someone like Alex to fuck?

His heart was racing, he watched as Elliott opened the bag and something slipped out of it. Black, rubber or silicone, shaped like a… Like a…

Alex’s mind blanked on the word, because he realised what Elliott meant it for. _Who_ he meant it for.

‘Elliott, I think-’

Fingers spreading his ass cheeks wide enough that the stretch hurt, and then Alex yelped when Elliott smacked two fingers sharply down on Alex’s hole.

‘Are you going to listen to me?’ Elliott said, his voice lilting, not flat, so he wasn’t really angry maybe. But Alex couldn’t quite tell. The sting of the slap was reverberating through him. Fuck, he was too sensitive for that. He was too-

Elliott did it again and Alex tried to buck down hard into the mattress.

 _‘I’ll listen!’_ His voice split. He bit down into the sheets, because he was told to shut up, and maybe answering was the wrong thing to do. But Elliott didn’t smack him again, and his other hand stopped spreading Alex so wide that he thought he’d tear. Even then, Alex’s breath was hitching, and his toes curled. He shifted, feeling horribly bared, even though he still technically had all his clothes on, even if his jeans were caught around his thighs.

‘‘I’ll listen’ is interesting, because of the tense. ‘I _will.’_ Not ‘I _was.’_ Darling, it sounds a lot like you _weren’t_ listening,’ Elliott said, briefly rubbing his hand over Alex’s lower back. ‘And you weren’t, were you? I know your memory is incredible, so you were just dicking around with me when I told you to stop more than three times. That more than entitles me to _dick_ around with you, doesn’t it? Don’t answer. I don’t want to hear you. Well, I suppose if you like, you can make those delicious sounds you do. But never mind, Alex, you won’t get much of a choice in the matter.’

Alex groaned weakly into the bed, before turning his head again to stare at the thing that was lying right in front of him. It was…not a dildo, he knew that. He’d seen whatever this was before. Online? No, he couldn’t remember. But it had a name! Maybe Haley had told him?

_Fuck, don’t think about Haley!_

Elliott plucked up whatever it was and Alex heard the sound of the cap coming off the lubricant. His heart picked up, he felt almost sick with it, but he was hard. He wanted to ask what Elliott was doing, but he knew. He wanted to tell Elliott to slow down, but he couldn’t.

Then he felt the blunt tip of it pressing against his ass and somehow Alex had still expected _fingers_ first because that thing wasn’t _small_ – not as big as Elliott but that wasn’t saying much – and Elliott just pressed forward with a firm pressure. Alex felt himself stretch around it, hole still sore from the stinging slaps Elliott had given him before.

He pushed himself forwards and Elliott followed him up the bed, both of them breathing heavily.

‘You can take this,’ Elliott said roughly. ‘It’s dripping onto my bed it’s so slick. Don’t disappoint me again. _Breathe.’_

Like Alex wasn’t hauling down breaths as fast as he could get them. Elliott kept pushing, and Alex squeaked out a sound like the air was being shoved out of his lungs. Stupid, the thing – the toy, whatever it was – pressing deeper, stretching him more, until he was sure he’d split. Until he was sure that Elliott was going to do actual damage. Until he had a word flash in front of him bright and crimson and he bit down on it hard.

But he dry-sobbed on the exhales, until the thing was inside of him, plugging him up.

 _Plug! Butt plug! Oh. Oh_ fuck _you, Elliott._

Alex half-growled, half-groaned into the bed. He hurt already, he’d started shaking at some point, adrenaline or lust or fear or _whatever_.

Elliott petted the flared base of the plug, and Alex moaned. But the petting continued, became tapping – jolting through Alex’s insides even though it didn’t reach as deep as Elliott’s cock; it was longer than his fingers.

Then a pause, and a slapping sound that Alex felt like a huge, quaking shock inside of him.

 _‘Stop!’_ he shouted, realising that Elliott had smacked the base of the plug. That had touched all kinds of raw things – his worry that he’d be injured, the openness of being spread like this and letting it happen. The plug had rocked hard against his prostate, and that hadn’t felt wholly good.  

A pause, and a hand reached forwards and gripped his hair hard, pulling his head up.

‘You have a word,’ Elliott said darkly. ‘And that word is not _stop._ What is it?’

‘R-Red,’ Alex said, his voice shaking.

‘Do you need to say it?’

Alex paused for a long time, and then hated how much this was making him think. It was better if he just handed it over to Elliott. Better, even when it hurt like this. He squirmed, and Elliott’s fingers were bruises.

 _‘Answer me,’_ Elliott said.

‘Just stop,’ Alex said, making a choice. A choice that sounded like he needed to say it, but was the opposite instead. Would Elliott understand? ‘Stop.’

Elliott responded by slapping the flare of the plug again, and Alex cried out and tried to wriggle away, and the relief that Elliott understood was swamped down again by what Elliott was doing.

‘Tell me to stop again,’ Elliott said, slapping the base of the plug twice more, until Alex felt like he was being bruised inside and tried to sink down to escape it.

 _‘Stop,’_ Alex cried.

‘Tell me _no,’_ Elliott snarled, slapping harder, making Alex keen against the mattress. It took a moment for Alex to catch his breath, to remember what he was even supposed to say.

‘No!’

‘Now tell me _Red,’_ Elliott said, voice rough, twisting the base of the plug and then pushing it so hard that Alex felt himself move up the bed. Alex almost screamed then, and hiccupped on a breath when Elliott sent a wave of stinging slaps to the same place at the top of his thigh, popping him there over and over again, until all Alex could see was bursts behind his eyelids, the colour that would stop everything.

He clenched his teeth down on it, and Elliott laughed behind him. He leaned over Alex, pinned him down by the neck with his other hand, and kept smacking that spot, as though he was trying to drive his hand through Alex’s skin.

Alex kicked out, and then winced when that shifted the plug, and then with nothing else to deal with the pain, he wailed into the bed.

‘No,’ Elliott said, drawing the word out like Alex had given the wrong response in an exam. ‘That’s not nearly penitent enough. Are you crying yet? Can you taste the salt of the sea in your mouth? No? Are you going to fight breaking for me, Alex? It will only hurt you more.’

A pause of only seconds, enough that Alex heaved down two deep breaths, and then Elliott smacked the palm of his hand against that spot between ass and thigh so hard that Alex almost choked on it.

‘Tch,’ Elliott scolded, then rubbed the spot soothingly, the contrast flooding Alex with heat. Alex’s ass was sore. He’d clamped down on the plug _hard_ due to the spanking. His cock twitched at the pleasure-sting, and he squirmed on the bed. ‘Tch, Alex, my dear flower, the _sounds_ you make. Darling, if you like, you can tell me to stop another twenty times and I’ll ignore you the way you did me. Hm?’

Alex shook his head. He hissed when nails scraped down the spot on the back of his thigh and ass that felt like it was on fire. He made a weak, pleading noise, and shivered when Elliott _laughed._

A grip on the base of the plug, a twisting sensation, and Alex thought maybe his consciousness would just flat out leave his body. It was impossible that he’d like that after everything that had just happened. It was surprisingly good. The thing moved slickly, there had been a ton of lubricant on it. The stuff still dripped down his balls. Elliott twisted the plug more, occasionally pulsing it forwards, fucking Alex on it.

‘The things I want to do to this scrumptious ass of yours,’ Elliott said, his voice dark with promise, like he was going to do them no matter what. ‘What marvels I have – nothing like what I had back in the city, but enough to blow you wide open, country boy. This is one of the smallest plugs I have. One day, I’ll place one of the largest ones on the piano stool and watch you sit on it and cry. Will you remember that ear for music you have? Maybe afterwards I could make you lick up anything that spilled. Cold lubricant is a feral thing to taste, but I think you like it when I make you do feral things.’

Alex felt like he was falling, or spinning upwards. He didn’t have the words for it. But Elliott sure did. Everything he said plucked at whatever fractiousness had been inside Alex’s mind. He forgot about how the farmer from Pinkstone hardly ever said hi to him, and he forgot about his empty future. He forgot about everything except that heavy weight twisting inside of him, the way his cock burned like Elliott had slapped that too. Clung to the hand rubbing over marks Elliott had left behind, like that tenderness would keep him afloat. The cruelty in Elliott’s voice was going to ruin him.

Because he hated it. Because he wanted it so much.

‘A blessing then,’ Elliott whispered, pressing his lips to the curve of Alex’s ass, ‘that I’m here, isn’t it? Though perhaps it doesn’t much feel like a blessing to _you._ Have you caught your breath? Ready for _round two?’_

Alex made a muffled sound of confusion, and then cried out when Elliott began spanking that spot again. God, no, that was _too much._

He kicked out again, gritting his teeth, and Elliott wrestled him right back into place, using his weight to press down on Alex’s legs. The spanks came harder after that, a clear punishment for Alex struggling at all. Alex cried out sharply into the bed, because it didn’t balance with the pleasure at all. It just fucking hurt. His breathing hitched, he reached behind him to try and make Elliott stop, and his fingers were slapped. He yanked them back, curling them into the bed instead.

‘I’m not hearing a particular word from you, so I’m just going to assume that you _want_ to cry for me,’ Elliott sing-songed. ‘Even masochists have a line, don’t they, petal? But this isn’t for _your_ benefit. What do you think a punishment _is?’_

Elliott’s hand shifted, became several hard slaps thumping against the base of the plug, but at some point, that had moved from shocking, to a deep, mind-rocking pleasure. Alex wanted to get a handle on the sensations, but couldn’t do anything more than respond. As he went limp, Elliott’s hand returned to that spot on his thigh.

God, _god,_ he was going to start bleeding. No, maybe not, but he felt like that whole part of his body had swollen to three times its normal size. Surely the skin would split. Then the sound changed, became something lighter, thinner, impossibly it hurt _more._ Alex tried to catch his breath, eyes stinging, his breathing moving towards sounds that he didn’t want to let free. It took him a moment to realise that Elliott was backhanding that spot with the backs of his fingers, letting his nails skim the raw skin.

Elliott was able to flick his wrist faster in that position, and the speed at which Elliott scraped the backs of his nails in those almost playful little slaps became a blur. Alex garbled out a plea that sounded like nothing more than messed up syllables, his voice broke, his shoulders shook when he sobbed.

‘Better,’ Elliott said in a way that suggested it was still not _good enough._

Elliott’s hand turned and kept spanking him, the flat of his palm this time, and Alex slammed his fist down into the mattress, then the heel of his hand, and then shoved that hand against his mouth because god _damn_ it, he was crying _for real._

Elliott stopped, though only to grab Alex’s arm and drag it forcefully away from his mouth.

‘No, let me hear,’ Elliott said, sounding warm. ‘God, let me hear you.’

If Alex had any control over himself, he might have let it loose at the rough, sweet way Elliott spoke those words. But as it was, he had no control at all, and he couldn’t stop the noises he was making. The shaking inhales, the heavy, jerking sobs that had been cracked out of him. And because his body was an asshole, he was still twisted up in wanting to come, his cock was still hard, his ass clenched at the plug. He was torn up not knowing what he wanted more – for everything to stop, for everything to keep going.

He was leaning towards wanting everything to stop – this was too humiliating, even for him – when fingers touched the base of the plug and twisted it again, slower than before. Pushed it deeper into him, firm and sure. Lights flared up behind Alex’s eyelids and a sob turned into a thick, low groan.

‘The alchemists of Greece believed in chrysopoeia,’ Elliott said, drawing the plug back a little, making it stretch Alex’s hole before pushing it forwards. Alex gasped, whined. Elliott began to do it rhythmically – the stretch, the deep push, and Alex heard himself making a ridiculous _‘ah’_ noise over and over again, but he couldn’t stop himself. ‘Of course they got the idea from the Egyptians, and they never quite made it work, but how they loved it. Memorialised in poetry. Giovanni Aurelio Augurello wrote of it – the so titled ‘Chrysopoeia’ – in a poem written all the way back in 1515.’

Alex was hardly listening, but something about Elliott’s ability to speak so clearly while Alex couldn’t actually remember how to function, was making his cock harder.

‘There’s a story, I’ll tell you it now, while I think about alchemy. Giovanni, the clever darling, dedicated his poem about transmuting anything into gold to Pope Leo the ninth? No, the tenth. Ah yes, oh, _Alex_ , what a distraction you are. The folklore goes that Pope Leo rewarded Giovanni with a purse filled with nothing at all. After all, an alchemist of the highest order should be able to turn any base metal into gold, yes? But the truth is even better. Pope Leo rewarded Giovanni with a sinecure at Treviso, an office that requires nearly no work and gives an easy salary. Imagine that. A life’s reward for _one poem.’_

Elliott pulled harder on the plug, until it was opening Alex on its widest point. Then he fucked him like that, pulling it nearly all the way out, shoving it back in. Alex couldn’t hear the popping noise – maybe there wasn’t one – but his ass felt like it wouldn’t ever be the same again. He cried in protest, and Elliott said nothing at all.

Then, the plug was pulled out and it thumped upon the bed. In the next moment, Elliott thrust into Alex in one sharp, forceful stroke.

That was how Alex learned that the plug was definitely not as wide as Elliott was. His ass burned, all of it now, as though the pain couldn’t contain itself to that single point where Elliott had slapped him. But Elliott shifted, changed the angle, rocked back and forth until he was rubbing over Alex’s prostate, and Alex’s sobs changed timbre.

‘My point,’ Elliott said, ‘and I do have one. My point is that I used to think the esoterica of literal alchemy was such a beautiful thing, until I realised I could have it all at my fingertips in the clubs. A dungeon monitor watching me work, a crowd around me, and myself like the Magus from the tarot – though he was originally only a mountebank – spinning magic from the one I gave my focus to. A partner for the night helping me spin us both into pure gold like a regular Rumplestiltskin.’

Elliott laughed, rocked slowly enough that every stroke was unbearable and so, so _good_. Alex was pretty sure his grandparents would miss him, because no way was he going to survive this. What the fuck was a mountebank?

‘It turns out I have been led astray,’ Elliott said, breathless now, thrusting faster. ‘All that time, I thought I knew what gold was, and I discover now that I’ve only been letting myself touch pyrite. And here, buried away somewhere where I may never have found you, I find what it really means to turn pain into pleasure. If I desire it. If I _let_ you have it. For, Alex, you’d best believe that I’m only letting you have this because I think you’re beautiful wearing this too. It turns out that you were the true gold I was seeking, my noble one, my panacea, you’re not hearing any of this, are you?’

A hand reaching around him, and Alex had gone hazy some time back, nothing more than a lightning rod, flashes of sharpness, dull and floating pain, of pleasure that wrenched or whispered. As soon as the fingers touched his cock, Alex couldn’t do anything more than come, so wrung out that he could only whimper through it.

‘That’s it,’ Elliott soothed. ‘That’s it. That’s stunning. What mercy. For the both of us, I think.’

Alex knew enough to know that Elliott would keep going for some time, except that only a couple of minutes later Elliott stopped – shoved deep – was shaking, the base of his cock throbbing at Alex’s entrance. Elliott swore hard, then cried out a wrecked, broken noise that Alex was more used to hearing come from his own mouth. Elliott’s hips jerked, strongly at first, and then weakly, through his aftershocks.

Then, a withdrawal, and Alex wanted to make some kind of pained noise, but his throat was worn out, and he didn’t do more than try and curl away. Not that there was really anywhere to go.

A hand in his hair, then it stroked down the length of his sweaty back, once, then again – half over his shirt, half over skin where the shirt had rucked up – before it settled back in Alex’s already damp hair.

Suddenly, Alex was aware enough to know that he couldn’t bear the idea of Elliott being angry with him, and he managed a clumsy:

‘M’sorry. About the rose.’

‘Forgiven,’ Elliott said, pushing Alex sideways and plastering himself to Alex’s front, wrapping him up in strong arms. ‘Of course. Forgiven. Let that go, Alex. If you can. You’re wonderful, you did everything so well, more beautifully than I could have ever expected.’

Alex buried his face into Elliott’s shoulder and clung to him, the words of praise making his eyes sting again.

‘Here,’ Elliott whispered, ‘rest now. Just rest. I’ll clean up later. Just hold to me, and I can be your lighthouse. Even as I am the rocks that wreck you.’

‘Oh…my god,’ Alex managed. ‘ _Shut up.’_

A kiss pressed to his forehead, to his cheek, to his closed right eyelid. Elliott was smiling,  and Alex pulled Elliott closer, crushing the breath out of his own lungs.

He wanted to say things like ‘don’t leave’ and ‘stay’ and other words that wouldn’t come together. But Elliott wasn’t leaving, and he seemed as desperate to hold Alex as close to him, as Alex was desperate to cling.

*

Later, after Elliott had cleaned up and gently stripped an aching Alex while murmuring gentle, comforting words – like he hadn’t been the one to rip Alex apart – they’d fallen asleep side by side. Alex woke and shifted and moaned softly, sore.

A minute passed, and Elliott began to stroke Alex’s hair, as though he knew that Alex was awake.

‘My flower,’ Elliott sighed. Alex wondered if Elliott had slept at all. ‘Did you want that today? I did. But I’m not sure you should tempt me like that again.’

Alex nodded. Shook his head. Moved closer to Elliott.

‘You going for me like that, like, in the beginning,’ Alex said, his voice still rough. ‘It reminded me of Dad. Is that- Do you think I’m fucked up?’

‘Yes,’ Elliott said. ‘No. I think you knew what you were doing, to a point. Even if you didn’t know what would follow. I’ve given that a lot of thought. My role in it.’

‘That word thing. The ‘Red’ thing. What is that?’

‘An out,’ Elliott said. ‘Though I’m woefully irresponsible with you. Did you know? Would you care? I almost didn’t give that much to you.’

‘The out,’ Alex said. ‘I don’t want it.’

Elliott pulled Alex closer, which mostly just meant he squeezed his arms over Alex’s ribs and shoulders, pressing his face alongside Alex’s. For a while they just breathed together.

‘The things I want,’ Alex said, ‘are they too much?’

‘Mm, I don’t think so,’ Elliott said, as though he were thinking it over even as he answered. He didn’t sound entirely sure, and Alex tensed. Then went limp again, Elliott’s fingers dragging over his scalp. He pressed his lips to the crook of Elliott’s neck and just breathed, wanting to stay warm and sore like this. ‘Did you come over wanting it?’

‘I… I just keep knowing there’s more,’ Alex said. ‘That you don’t show me, because you either think you can’t, or think you shouldn’t, or think I’m not ready for it. Whatever. I know there’s stuff I couldn’t handle, even if I don’t know what it is yet. Well, I dunno, today I feel like I saw that side of you. But I come over, I see you and it’s like, I want to hang out, but then there’s this too. It makes me feel strong, y’know. That I can take it.’

‘Does it?’ Elliott said, pulling back a little, then pushing closer again, like it was too difficult to move away. Alex dug his hands into Elliott’s lower back, and Elliott groaned softly. The sound was rich. Alex liked it. ‘Did your father ever make you feel that way? Strong?’

‘No,’ Alex scoffed, and then just as some answers clicked into place for him, Elliott said:

‘Then no, I don’t think this is fucked up at all. Well, maybe a _little._ But not for the reason you put forth. But, Alex, there’s something you should know about me. I like – will like – pushing you past points where you think you can take it. That’s why you need the word sometimes.’

‘No, you don’t get it,’ Alex said quietly. ‘I want that too. Which is maybe sick, whatever. But I want that, I don’t want an out. I want you to push me there. You’ve already _done_ it. The first fucking time we had sex, that wasn’t- It was like you just- I don’t even have the _words_ for it. But then after, I came back to myself and didn’t think I was any worse off for it, and it felt amazing.’

‘Alex, you need that word,’ Elliott said, his voice far more serious than usual. ‘I can happily play without them, but you don’t like negotiation. So you need, at least, _a word._ So do I.’

It had never occurred to Alex that Elliott might be scared of what they’d done, but he heard it in Elliott’s voice, and now that he thought about it, maybe he’d felt it in the lingering tension in Elliott’s body. The way that Elliott couldn’t let Alex go. Not that Alex wanted to go anywhere.

‘Okay,’ Alex said carefully. ‘It’s not like you can unsay it anyway, right? Like, in the future, if I say it, you’re gonna listen anyway, right?’

‘Yes,’ Elliott said immediately.

‘So you have like a trunk of sex toys under your bed, huh?’

‘Yes,’ Elliott said, sighing. ‘Well. About a tenth of what I had back home. Less, even. Ah, the things you can invest your money in. And you can’t sell off most of it, because hygiene matters. Some of it I didn’t want to see again. Some of it I kept because of nostalgia, or hope. I was very done with the scene when I left it.’

‘The scene,’ Alex said, tracing a pattern on Elliott’s back. He was making out letters, and he was pretty sure he was writing something that had started out sentimental, but was becoming _‘Elliott is a dick.’_

‘I worked as a dungeon monitor myself, towards the end,’ Elliott said. ‘I didn’t want the active scenes anymore. I suppose I’d kick myself out of a club now, if I met me. Except that I can abide by a club’s rules. Public versus private, etcetera.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Alex, this is dangerous,’ Elliott said urgently. ‘You’re going to let me really hurt you one day. No, you’ll take that the wrong way. Let me rephrase: I am really going to hurt you one day. Perhaps you’ll never come back from it. I should stop myself. Yet here we are.’

‘What?’ Alex said, feeling like – fuck, he was too tired for this. Except he wasn’t. He didn’t like the self-reproach in Elliott’s voice, and he didn’t like the idea that he was going to hear something that would make him feel ashamed, or _more_ ashamed, of what they’d done. Alex was already having a tough enough time dealing with the fact that he liked what he liked. It helped that Elliott seemed comfortable with accepting Alex’s ability to embrace or even need pain, as comfortable as Elliott seemed with his own ability to cause it.

‘Elliott,’ Alex said, pulling back just enough to look at him, frowning. ‘I literally _just_ talked about how this makes me feel strong, not weak. I don’t know why. I don’t know why you fucking me up does that, but it does. I don’t know the…science of it, if there is a science to it. I don’t know the fancy words you know. But I knew when I came here that I was stirring shit with you and you listened to me, like picking up the phone. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that first, right? Maybe I could just _ask_ for something…instead of baiting you all the time. And maybe until I know how to do that, you could cut yourself some slack or something. I mean- Yeah, it’s scary. You _want_ me to be scared. I… I… I’ll gut you if say this back to me but I sometimes want that too.’

Alex pressed a hand to Elliott’s belly. It wasn’t as defined as Alex’s, but it wasn’t _soft_ either. It was nice, and he rubbed the skin, watched the way Elliott’s gaze became almost sleepy.

‘I like it,’ Alex said. ‘I mean no, in the moment, sometimes I just fucking- I don’t know. I don’t even know. It’s like I’d sell my fucking soul to make you stop, but I know if I just hang on for another minute, or ten minutes, or _whatever,_ you’ll make it something good. What did you say, Elliott? You’ll turn it into gold.’

‘I wish you’d talk to me like this all the time,’ Elliott said.

‘Nah,’ Alex said. ‘We can’t all be like you.’

‘I need you to listen to me,’ Elliott said, apparently still not done trying to freak Alex out – and failing abjectly. ‘I like things that a lot of people don’t enjoy. I like humiliating you – I like the idea of humiliating you more than I have. You don’t even want to know the things I’ve imagined, and yet I want you to find out what they are. Alex, are you getting hard?’

‘No,’ Alex said. ‘My cock is dead, thanks to you. I don’t know what that is.’

‘Alex, _honestly.’_ Elliott sounded like he’d well and truly gotten over whatever rough patch that had been before.

‘I’m young, okay?’ Alex said. ‘I can’t help it.’

‘I’m trying to explain to you that I wish to hurt you and humiliate you. I wish you to be plugged up in Pierre’s grocery store and unable to walk without thinking of me, and after two or three hours, complaining that you don’t want to walk at all, or bent down at my feet while I feed you sweets and call you pet, or- Oh, goodness, I have to say you do _delightful_ things to my ego and Id both.’

‘I’m _young._ And I don’t want to do anything, I’m sore. You fucked me over.’

‘I gave you fair warning,’ Elliott said.

‘Yeah,’ Alex griped. ‘I suppose so.’

‘What did you think I’d do?’

‘I dunno,’ Alex said, unable to stop himself from smiling a little. ‘Something like this.’

‘I’ll get you some painkillers in a minute,’ Elliott said. ‘Nothing heavy. I have some lotion too. It’s still going to hurt to sit for a few days. And stand. And bend over. And-’

‘See, now _you’re_ getting hard,’ Alex said, grumping.

‘I’m enjoying this too much to do anything about it,’ Elliott murmured. ‘We fit well together. Don’t you think?’

Alex nodded before he could think of a clever retort to say. Even as his cheeks flushed, he realised it was true.

They fit well together.

*

A week later, Alex made the walk up the hill, past the rundown community centre, to Sebastian’s house. Well, really, it was Robin’s house, and the carpentry shop, but mostly it was just where Sebastian lived. They had that huge garage, and it was almost always closed, but Alex had seen Sebastian’s motorbike in it once or twice, and wondered if it felt like freedom, the wind racing through his hair while he cruised an open road.

Sebastian was downstairs, because he lived in the basement. He only looked up briefly, annoyed before he even knew who it was.

‘Hey,’ Alex said. He was nervous, feeling like he was taking a big risk just by turning up.

The last time he’d visited like this, they’d been in high school, and Alex had delivered some homework because Sam and Abigail had been out with the same sickness. It’d been years, even though they saw each other around town all the time.

‘I need you to do something for me,’ Alex said. ‘I mean- If that’s okay.’

‘What?’ Sebastian said, staring at his screen, hardly looking up at all. They’d never gotten along in school. Sebastian had always spent his time gaming or behind a computer, and Alex had thought he was weird. Then Sebastian had gotten a motorbike and Alex’s estimation of him had gone up just in time for Sebastian to realise that he didn’t like Alex either.

‘It’s kind of weird,’ Alex said.

‘What is it?’ Sebastian said impatiently. ‘I’m working.’

‘What, now? On the computer?’

Sebastian looked away from the screen and just stared at him.

‘Sorry,’ Alex said, holding up his hands. ‘I didn’t realise. That’s pretty cool though. Working in here like that.’

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change, like he didn’t know if Alex was being serious or not. Then he brushed some of his long, styled black hair from his face and tilted his head.

‘What is it?’ Sebastian said again.

‘I need you to look something up for me, and then, um, if you could read me the results? Because- Because I learn better when I hear shit, but I don’t read that great. I mean I could read the sites but I’ll get out of your hair faster if you do it.’

Sebastian opened his mouth, eyes sharp enough that Alex knew to brace himself and _knew_ this had been a stupid idea. But then Sebastian looked back at his screen again, and after a moment, he shrugged.

‘Fine. Is it going to take long?’

‘I hope not,’ Alex said, and then grimaced apologetically. ‘I mean, I don’t think it will. I just- I’m not sure who else to ask. Haley doesn’t have a computer, and it’s something I can’t just… I mean I asked Pierre about it, but he didn’t know either. That new farmer maybe – but, you’re friends with him right?’

‘Friends,’ Sebastian said, and then he shrugged again. ‘Yeah.’

‘So if the internet can’t help me then I’ll ask him maybe, but otherwise, if you could just… I’d owe you bigtime. Whatever you want.’

‘Personal training,’ Sebastian said quickly.

Alex stared at him, taken back.

‘What?’

‘Personal training. Just one or two sessions. I’m getting messed up because of doing this job all day, and walking around the town doesn’t help. Harvey said I could see a physical therapist about it if I wanted to, but there’s no one here, and it’s expensive. I don’t make _that_ much. You know anything to help with that?’

Alex told himself to stop _staring_ at Sebastian and looked down at the ground thinking quickly. He didn’t have those issues, because he didn’t sit hunched over desks, but he’d seen diagrams in the muscle mags, and he’d picked up stuff from word of mouth. He could probably look into it a bit more. It’d be worth a few headaches to figure it out.

‘Core strength probably,’ Alex said to himself, and then looked up, nodding. ‘Maybe some stretches and stuff for your shoulders and wrists? Do they get sore? And look I’m not like a qualified personal trainer or anything? A physical therapist would probably-’

‘You spend all your time working out,’ Sebastian said, leaning back in his chair. ‘I’m not asking you to work a medical miracle, and I’m not _sick,_ I just want to make sure I’m not doing things wrong when I finally learn them.’

‘Uh, sure then. Okay. Yeah.’ He was nervous, but also kind of excited about it. No one had really asked him before, and so he always thought it was just something to do on his own. Pierre’s wife ran a calisthenics-aerobics thing at Pierre’s store, and that seemed to be all that the town wanted. Most lived a pretty physical life and didn’t care about being buff.

‘So what do you want me to look up?’

‘Yeah, okay, so…don’t laugh…’

And then Alex explained what he wanted, and though Sebastian looked surprised, he didn’t laugh about it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mountebank is a charlatan. And was what the original 'Magician' in the Major Arcana tarot actually represented.


	5. Chapter 5

Without fanfare, the pages appeared.

Alex came over one day – the weather unusually fair, though cold as balls – and Elliott was stirring something in a pot over his kitchenette that smelled garlicky. On the other table, next to the typewriter, were several pages lying face down next to it. Alex could see the faint imprints of type, so they’d been _typed on._

For ages, all he’d seen was balled up pieces of paper in the bin. This was something new. Without really thinking about it, he reached for them, his eyes going wide.

 _‘No!’_ Elliott shouted, and Alex froze, his fingers brushing the back of the pages. He could see from this close that it wasn’t full paragraphs. Elliott was writing _poetry._

 _Holy shit, did he listen to my advice? Is it_ working?

He looked up and half-expected playful outrage, and not the depth of naked fear that he actually saw. He jerked his arm back to his side like he’d been scalded.

‘Shit, sorry,’ he said.

‘No, it’s…’ Elliott made a face and stared at the contents in the pot again, and then shook his head as though irritated. ‘Just for now. Please.’

‘It’s poetry,’ Alex said.

He could probably read poetry without it being as much of a problem. The shorter sentences, not condensed into paragraphs that hurt. He’d never really thought about it before. He’d always ignored it in school, but he’d liked hearing it read aloud by the teacher, even if the teacher had always spoken it in that endless monotone of: ‘I’m teaching this because I have to and not because I want to.’

Alex wanted to say something smug. He wanted to take all the credit for it. But he hated the tension that Elliott was carrying in his shoulders. It was _Elliott,_ who approached the world with a kind of dry, lascivious way of looking at things, and Elliott was never really _tense._ He could be angry, or annoyed, or smug, or snide, or pleased, even careful. But this was just straight up fear.

‘Sorry,’ Alex said again, stepping away from the pages and staring at them, his mind working overtime and not liking the things he was putting together. Was it him? Did Elliott think Alex would…?

_Do what you’ve always done? Mock it? Treat him like shit? You really are just like your father._

Alex took several more steps away from the pages which pretty much put him near Elliott’s bed, because it wasn’t like Elliott’s home was huge.

‘I’m not sure if they’re anything,’ Elliott said, his voice rushed – not flat, not lilting, but nervous. ‘They’re probably nothing at all! Well, that’s the thing with writing. Or getting back on the horse. I’d be a graceless horseman, I’m sure, nothing like the fellow from Pinkstone. I have some friends who are editors who can look it over. Maybe not these, but later- I’m not sure if-’

‘Wow,’ Alex said, staring at him. ‘Look at you go.’

Elliott turned and looked over his shoulder, arching an acerbic brow. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’re just… _rambling!_ Oh my god, it’s like stage-fright, but for writing. Is that a thing? Is there like, write-fright or something?’

Elliott opened his mouth, eyes narrowing into a scowl, and then he turned back to the pot, dropped the wooden spoon so it would rest inside, against the rim, and turned the heating plate off. Alex couldn’t think of what to do. He desperately wanted to read the poems – he didn’t care if it hurt his head, whatever. He’d not be able to understand all of the words, he’d come to terms with that, it’d be the same as actually listening to Elliott on a good day. He knew that if he said anything bad about them, it’d ruin whatever…whatever _this_ was. No wonder Elliott had never written a great novel. Dude would’ve probably crushed himself to pieces before even trying.

Alex still couldn’t get over the fact that Elliott was scared. Of words. On a page. Just words!

‘Write-fright,’ Alex said, nodding sagely.

‘Oh, for _fuck’s sake,’_ Elliott spat, so sharply that the words pushed Alex another step backwards. ‘There’s no such thing. It’s _nothing._ I just don’t want them to be read. Is that so hard for you to comprehend? Are you-?’

Elliott had turned, had started to march towards Alex, and then halted and stared down at the ground, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Which was good, because Alex couldn’t either. He’d never heard Elliott swear like that before, and Elliott swore all the time. But usually to illustrate pornographic sex fantasies, or to talk dirty when he was turning those fantasies into reality.

Elliott’s hand lifted to the back of his neck, sliding beneath all that auburn hair – something that Alex’s hands suddenly itched to do – and he rubbed it slowly.

‘I suppose I may have developed something of a complex, and not realised,’ Elliott said, each word sounding like it had been torn from him.

‘Cool,’ Alex said, walking forwards and feeling a shred more confidence. This? This he could do. This was like when Haley got upset because people thought she was a stuck-up princess, even though she kind of wanted people to think she was a stuck-up princess, when she was more like…the good-deed-focused princesses from movies. This was like when his grandma looked at a photo of his mom for an hour, and kind of forgot to turn the lights on in the kitchen at the end of the day, and Alex had to turn the lights on and he’d make her some tea and put extra sugar in and tell her that he wanted to watch a video or something – always one of those dumbass romances she liked – so she could think about something else for a while.

It was even, a little, like when his dad went to work the next day, and Alex’s mom was too sore to get Alex ready for school, and so Alex had to wake himself up and make himself sandwiches and get his mom painkillers and a glass of water and leave the number of the doctor there – the old doctor, before Harvey came along. She’d never call the doctor anyway, and- Alex forced himself to swallow, not wanting to think about those days. Not now.

This wasn’t anything like that. But Alex knew this thing with Elliott had gravity and weight to it, even if he didn’t _get_ it. He knew. He knew when he failed a test for the billionth time and the teachers talked to him like they were so used to him _failing_ that it wasn’t a big deal for them anymore, even though it was a big deal for him, and he kept expecting them to reach a hand out so he could try _harder._ After all, he’d run out of things to try, but they were teachers, wouldn’t they know more ways? But they’d given up faster than he had.

Elliott stiffened when Alex slid his arms around Elliott’s shoulders. He heard the intake of breath, and then the sulky:

‘If this is some lead in to you being sarcastic about-’

‘Shut up,’ Alex said, burying his hands in Elliott’s hair. It was stupidly soft. It felt _lush._ Alex’s hair just kind of felt like hair. But he pulled Elliott closer and was aware of how much strength he had around Elliott, who almost always made Alex feel like the weaker one. Elliott’s hands slipped around Alex’s waist, pressed into the small of his back. It was surprisingly really nice. _Really_ nice. And warm. It smelled good. Alex was going to steal Elliott’s shampoo.

A minute later, Elliott said – dumbfounded: ‘You’re _holding_ me.’

‘It’s called a hug,’ Alex said. ‘Because you have write-fright.’

‘You _cannot_ call it that!’ Elliott said, exasperated. As Alex started to laugh, Elliott made a faint sound of amusement, and then sighed. ‘Please don’t call it that. Really, it’s not a thing. It makes me feel that suddenly I am a three year old who cannot write their own name.’

‘Yeah, your name is hard though. The double L and the double T. I bet everyone skips one or the other. I bet you did as a kid.’

‘I did,’ Elliott said, feet shuffling an inch forward. Then Elliott was pressing his nose to Alex’s neck and breathing in deeply. Alex shivered, fingers tightening. Okay, this was way more ‘adult’ than any other hug he’d ever had. He wasn’t even rocking a boner or anything. It was just…he _could._

He was trying to be comforting, and Elliott just had to inhale and Alex felt like he could drown in the sound of it.

‘You wrote something,’ Alex said. ‘It doesn’t really matter if it’s shit, does it?’

 _‘Actually-_ ’

‘No, but seriously? You _wrote_ something. Haven’t you been trying to do that since you _got_ here? And you’ve done it. So who cares if it’s shit? You could write nothing else for a month and it’d still be more than you’ve done in like…the year previous. You know, they say in the gym and stuff, we get newcomers all the time that see us benching or whatever and they get mad intimidated. But all gains is good gains.’

 _‘Oh_ no,’ Elliott breathed, sounding truly revolted.

_Ha, now you know what it feels like, asshole._

‘That’s it, Elliott,’ Alex said slowly. ‘All gains is good-’

He was already snorting with laughter when Elliott thrust him away, staring at him in something mixed between amusement and abject horror.

‘The grammar of that is just-’

‘We lift weights. It’s not always about grammar. See? I bet your poetry is already better than anything I could write. Maybe it’s not up to your standards, or whatever, but so? If I ever bust a ligament or something and need to recover, the hardest part will be just…going back to the gym and getting started again. Like, because I’ll always know what I _used_ to be able to do, and I’ll always compare it to what post-torn-ligament-me is like. I don’t know what drove you out of the city, but you’re not that person anymore. You have to learn what kind of writer you are now. No wonder you have write-fright.’

‘Alex,’ Elliott said, raising a finger. _‘No.’_

‘Write-fright,’ Alex said, grinning.

‘Obviously you don’t learn lessons fast enough, if you’re so keen to earn yourself another punishment,’ Elliott said, walking towards him and rolling his eyes.

Now that Alex knew how intense punishments were, he knew in a split second that he didn’t want one today, and he started laughing, shaking his head, raising his hands.

‘Okay, okay, I won’t say it again. Today. I promise.’

Instead, Alex was folded up in Elliott’s arms, and he leaned into it without thinking. Hugs were good. Hugs with Elliott were _amazing._

‘Hey,’ Alex said, ‘you want to go outside and toss the gridball around? I brought it with me. Like, if you wanted to do that.’

‘Can you imagine me tossing a gridball?’

‘I can imagine me laughing at your ass,’ Alex said. ‘Sounds like a great day to me.’

A pause, and then Elliott squeezed Alex tightly and said:

‘I think I need to get out of this shack. All right. Let me eat first though. Then, I suppose I’ll let you toss a ball past my head. I hope you enjoy running around to grab it.’

‘You know what they say, Elliott. All gains is good- Mmph!’

Elliott had smacked his hand over Alex’s mouth so fast, that Alex’s laugh, when it came, burst in sharp breaths out of his nose.

So worth it.

*

Alex couldn’t really train Sebastian at his home, or Sebastian’s home, so they both walked up to the gym together – well the _spa,_ but Alex mostly thought of it as the gym – since it was so close to Sebastian’s house anyway. It was crazy that the guy hadn’t thought to go in the past. He wondered what Sebastian did to actually stay fit, but maybe nothing? Guy spent all day cooped up in his basement like that. It wasn’t good for anyone.

‘Okay, so…I think I want to see your form first,’ Alex said, looking Sebastian over critically. Yeah, like _no_ core muscles, probably. ‘So if you could just do a few push ups or whatever you normally do…to…’

Sebastian was staring at him like Alex was speaking another language, and Alex realised that he needed to get way, _way_ back to basics. He tried to quickly think back to when he’d first learned this shit, but his dad had taught him when he’d been sober, and then Alex had just picked it up pretty naturally at school. They _showed_ him how to do athletics, he didn’t have to _read_ about it, and so he learned it all really fast.

‘Oh boy,’ Alex said, realising that knowing how to do something and knowing how to teach something were radically different, and he’d never considered that before.

‘Forget it,’ Sebastian said, his cheeks flushed. ‘I can just Youtube it or something.’

‘Wait,’ Alex said, staring at him. ‘No, seriously, wait? I just need to think about…where to start. I’m not good at this, so like, anyway, forget push ups. They’ll be basic later on – hard, but basic – but for now let’s go with the real basics, okay? Cuz if you jump in and do stuff that’s not right for you now, you’ll fuck yourself up way faster than sitting at a computer will.’

Sebastian nodded, flicked back his black hair from his eyes, and grimaced, like he was having second thoughts about the whole thing.

‘So,’ Alex said, sitting on one of the weights benches and indicating that Sebastian should sit opposite him. ‘There’s three main exercise types, okay? There’s strength, aerobics or cardio, and flexibility, which is pilates and yoga and shit. You’re talking about not wanting to fuck yourself up at a computer all the time, so you need to work on your core strength, which will be uh…strength, mostly, and some cardio to keep your body happy. Your core strength means all of this here.’ Alex gestured from his ribs down to his pelvis. ‘And it’s not as much about your back as it’s about your front. Right? Like…you know how they teach you to bend at the knees to pick heavy shit up?’

‘Yeah,’ Sebastian said. ‘To take pressure off the spine?’

‘Yeah, exactly, so core strength is the same. And posture will play into whatever you do but I don’t know so much about that. Strengthening your core helps with posture anyway. But before we get to that, I suppose you’d better tell me if you have any like chronic injuries or anything. And you know, if I break you, don’t tell Harvey it was me?’

‘I’m so telling Harvey it was you,’ Sebastian said, but he smirked a moment later, and Alex felt like maybe – _maybe_ – he was not going to completely screw this up. ‘Oh, hey, I wanted to say that I got an email saying things could be shipped in a few weeks, so everything’s coming along with that side of things.’

‘Cool,’ Alex said, heart skipping a beat. Well, that was more nerve-wracking than _cool_ , but whatever. He was here to focus on fitness, and even though he was meant to be teaching Sebastian, he was pretty sure he was going to end up learning a whole bunch more than he’d expected to.

*

Alex accompanied Elliott to the library sometimes. The place used to intimidate the hell out of him, and even now, he strayed to the section of local museum and looked at all the samples, instead of looking at the books. It wasn’t like dating, it was more like he had nothing better to do, and he kind of just liked being near Elliott.

His grandpa figured it out first.

‘So you’ve taken a shine to that gentleman, Elliott?’ he’d said, while scooping up the rest of the leek omelette into his mouth. Alex’s grandma was in the kitchen, and the TV was loud enough, a gridball game on. Alex didn’t care much for the players, and he was finding it harder to watch – now that he was less about ‘I’m gonna be there soon, playing on that field’ and more about a weird, melancholic nostalgia for something he’d never even lived.

‘Um,’ Alex said.

‘He’s a friendly fellow. Has a bit of bite to him though, doesn’t he?’

‘Does he?’ Alex said, surprised that his grandpa could see it.

‘We were fishing at the river,’ he replied. ‘Got a sense of it, even if he was playing very nice. I think he’s trying to impress us. But he’s not half-bad at fishing, too.’

That was basically raw adulation or something, and the nicest his grandpa had ever been regarding any of Alex’s friends. Even Haley he was still reserved about. After _more than a decade._ Alex knew that Elliott had gone fishing the river with his grandpa, but hadn’t thought much about it.

‘Did he tell you anything?’ Alex said.

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ his grandpa said. He leaned and placed the plate down on the coffee table, and then shifted his wheelchair back a few centimetres, keeping his hands on the wheels. ‘Come on, son, I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘I haven’t said anything to grandma.’

‘Doubt you’ll need to,’ his grandpa said gruffly. ‘She wasn’t born yesterday either, I’ll have you know.’

‘Does she mind?’ Alex said, fiddling at an embroidered cushion, staring down at the carefully maintained fabric. Then he made a point of leaning back and looking all casual about it. He could tell from his grandpa’s expression that he didn’t buy it.

‘Now you’re insulting your grandma,’ he said, sighing heavily. ‘Evelyn’s not like that, never has been.’

‘We’ve always talked about grandkids,’ Alex said. ‘She’s always wanted me to- And I… I’m not even- I can’t even _think_ about-’

‘Then don’t?’ his grandpa said. ‘You’re knee-high to a grasshopper, it’s not something you have to think about now anyway. If you think Evelyn cares more about the happiness of some children that don’t exist, than _your_ happiness, you’d best go apologise to her right now.’

His grandpa had that disapproving look on his face. It had scared the crap out of Alex when he’d been younger. He sometimes secretly wondered if his grandpa was cruel to his grandma when he was away. It took a long time to understand the difference between someone who was just gruff, and someone who – like his father – was abusive.

‘It’ll keep,’ his grandpa said, eventually. ‘She’ll probably tell you before you tell her. And this fellow, he treating you well?’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said, kind of surprised to hear himself say it. But Elliott…was? They still ragged on each other all the time, but they seemed to have a better sense of safe zones now. The things they picked apart mercilessly in the beginning had different boundaries around them now. It didn’t mean they didn’t sometimes screw it up, but Elliott was quick to apologise, and that made it safer for Alex to try apologising too. ‘I mean, he’s kind of pretentious and shit, but yeah.’

‘I did get that impression,’ his grandpa said drily, and then he laughed. ‘If he gives you any trouble, you tell me, and I’ll show him what for.’

‘Pretty sure I can fight my own battles, but thanks.’

‘Anytime,’ his grandpa said, before fixing his gaze to the screen. Alex knew the conversation was over, and smiled to himself. A moment later, he realised that Elliott didn’t have any grandparents to check in on him like that. He didn’t have _anyone_ really. No one was going to ask Elliott if Alex was treating him well, and no one was going to protect him if it fell apart. Because Elliott still kept himself apart from the town.

So, if he went to the library with Elliott sometimes, it was also because he felt like for someone who was on speaking terms with everyone, Elliott didn’t have any anchors in the town except for Alex.

It was a weird thing to realise. Sometimes Alex felt the same, mostly because he didn’t drink and that was the one thing mostly everyone did in the town – they drank, or they hung out at the Stardrop Saloon with the arcade games and billiards table. But he had his grandparents. He’d gone to school with Haley. He had his dog, Dusty, and he knew the secrets of the town.

Elliott used to hang out with Leah, except she’d gotten super busy with her wood sculpting, and Alex sometimes thought Elliott was a little bitter about the fact that she was doing so well with it. 

Later, as they walked back to Elliott’s house from the library, waving at Willy who was fishing from the bridge, Alex said:

‘If you ever wrote a great novel, and it made tons of money-’

‘Writers do not make tons of money-’ Elliott interrupted. ‘If I wanted _that,_ I would have…chosen a different path.’

‘Okay, but, say you do get like super rich or something, would you stay here? Or would you leave? Like, would the beach shack have served its purpose or some shit?’

Elliott paused at the end of the bridge, and Alex stood on the slat of wood that creaked, and changed the balance in his feet just to hear it creak more. It was chilly out, but the sun was shining, and Alex could hear cardinals whistling clearly, piercing the air.

‘Goodness,’ Elliott said. ‘I hadn’t considered it.’

‘Seriously?’ Alex said. Elliott walked to the railing, and placed his hands on it, staring down at the water. Alex stood next to him, careful not to place his hands in old bird crap. The water moved fast, but it was mostly quiet. Someone – probably Sam – had tossed an empty can of Joja Cola against the bank. Mayor Lewis would be pissed if he saw that.

‘I…’ Elliott sounded genuinely shocked. ‘I suppose, that had been the initial idea. I’d come here to fix myself, and I’d go back to the city. But that’s not…how it seems now.’

‘You don’t think you’d go back?’

‘I really don’t,’ Elliott said, in that same tone of wonder.

Alex should’ve worn something other than his letter jacket. But he said nothing, felt his ears start to burn from the chill. Elliott always wore like fifteen layers and that green velvet coat and was probably roasting despite the fact that Alex’s balls were trying to crawl back up into his pelvis.

‘Why’d you leave?’

‘Ah, well, are you expecting some momentous event?’ Elliott said, laughing softly. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. I became tired, I wished for something simpler, the shack was for sale, and I had a small inheritance. I thought she would have liked it. My mother. But it wasn’t until I was there for a month that I realised she’d have hated it; living by the sea, where hardly anything grows.’

‘She grew a lot of things?’

‘Anything,’ Elliott said quietly, staring at the water, but looking like he was seeing something else. ‘Anything she liked.’

‘The beach grows things too,’ Alex said, thinking about sea anemones in the rock pools, the palms and shrubs that grew there, turning green in summer, offering up violet and orange and red in autumn.

Elliott turned to him and looked at Alex for a long time, then said: ‘I suppose it does.’

Something about the words, the way they were delivered, made Alex feel awkward, and he leaned back from the railing and then started to walk away from the bridge to Elliott’s house.

Elliott followed him about a minute later, running to catch up.

‘Do you want me to stay?’ Elliott said, and Alex looked at him, shocked.

‘Huh?’

‘Would you prefer it if I stayed?’

‘I…’

_How the fuck did this become about me? We were just talking about his mom!_

‘And you?’ Elliott said. ‘Are you moving to the city to turn _pro?’_

‘You know I’m not,’ Alex said, laughing. Then he shoved his hands – his fucking cold fingers – into his jeans and his shoulders hunched. Everyone knew he wasn’t. Probably they were all just waiting for him to realise, so that no one actually had to say the words to him. Maybe they thought that was letting him down gently. But no one knew the kinds of things Alex said to himself when he was disappointed in himself. ‘Will you stay in the shack?’

Alex prayed that Elliott would accept the change of subject, and closed his eyes in relief when he did.

‘I think so,’ Elliott said. ‘I might…work on it some more, perhaps. I don’t really know. I haven’t decided if I like the sea, yet.’

‘You haven’t _decided?_ You’ve been there for ages.’

‘You don’t just decide to like the sea,’ Elliott said, even has he walked up the sand-swept stones to his front door.

‘You _live on it._ Wait, did you not like the beach before you moved here? Why did you move here?’

‘You’re on a tear today,’ Elliott said, voice darker, reproving. So Alex had touched on something that Elliott _really_ didn’t want to talk about. They both stamped their feet, knocked their shoes against the outside of the house to get sand off them, but as always, it was mostly useless. They tracked it inside, and when Elliott shut the door behind him, Alex looked around the house and wondered what it was like to live there when you didn’t even know if you liked the beach.

‘So why-’

Elliott grabbed Alex’s shoulders from behind, and then held Alex still so that he could press his chest to Alex’s back. Alex blinked when he felt Elliott’s head slide against cheek, when one of those hands gripping his shoulders became an arm sliding around his front. It took seconds, and Alex forgot that the air had been so cold he could hardly feel the tip of his nose.

‘I had access to just about everything I liked, in the city,’ Elliott said softly, his voice brushing Alex’s ear. ‘And after a while, I didn’t _like_ it anymore. What did you think, Alex? That I’d always wanted to live in a shack by the sea? Did you think that was my homely little dream? Firstly, it should have been a forest. Secondly, it wouldn’t have been a _shack._ Thirdly, I would have made quite sure there was a café strip nearby, so that I didn’t have to drink instant. What a pain.’

Alex sucked in a sharp breath when Elliott’s frigid hand slipped beneath his shirt. He was still reeling from the idea that Elliott went somewhere he didn’t want to go, _because_ he didn’t want to go there. Like, he’d had so many of the things he’d wanted, and decided to try something he didn’t want? For the hell of it?

Was that what he was doing now? With Alex?

‘Uh…’ Alex said, feeling weird. ‘You hate it here?’

‘Are you hearing things I’m not saying again?’ Elliott said, his voice lilting, but soft enough to be utterly threatening. Alex’s eyes closed. Then cold fingers reached up and got a dry, hard grip on one of his nipples and twisted it hard enough that Alex barked out a rough sound and jerked hard, stepping away on reflex.

Except he couldn’t step away. Elliott’s grip on him was firm. The pain was harsher when it came on the back of nothing at all. When it was delivered with cold fingers.

 _‘Ow,’_ Alex said pointedly.

‘I should hope so,’ Elliott replied, moving close enough that his hair was falling over Alex’s shoulder. ‘Stay still and take it for me.’

_Fuck. Fucking hell. Elliott and his goddamn distractions._

‘You know,’ Alex said, his voice shaking, even as Elliott let go of Alex’s nipple and trailed fingers up and down his sternum, between his pecs. That was really nice, and Alex wanted to tip his head back and get drunk on it. They hadn’t had a ton of sex in the past two weeks. Like Elliott was letting some other things settle before he brought out his trunk of sex toys again, or something. It was always so high intensity between them, even when there _weren’t_ toys, and Alex couldn’t handle that all the time. ‘You know, if you don’t want to talk about something, you just say: ‘Alex, I don’t want to talk about it,’ instead of like… _this.’_

‘I don’t mind talking about it,’ Elliott said, lightly enough that it sounded like total bullshit. ‘I wanted to do this to you in the library, to see how quiet you’d be, but then I thought…why have you struggle to be quiet, when I could do whatever I like here?’

‘I want to see in that trunk of yours. The one under your bed. Show me.’

Elliott’s teeth grazed Alex’s neck, and then Alex was pushed away and Elliott walked over to the bed, flipping up the quilt and pulling out the large, heavy trunk. Alex stared, because Elliott had listened, because he didn’t know why he’d brought it up. It wasn’t even like he was hard.

Not that hard, anyway.

‘Look over there a moment,’ Elliott said. ‘I want to take some things out I’m relatively certain you’re not ready to see.’

‘What?’ Alex said, and then he turned automatically and stared over at the typewriter. At the pages of poetry that were facedown that Alex still wasn’t allowed to see.

‘Just a feeling I have,’ Elliott said. ‘And I’m not in the mood for you to make fun of _everything_ I’m interested in.’

The sound of the trunk opening, and Elliott rummaging through it. Then, Elliott walked across the room and set some things down on his kitchen bench. Alex looked to it automatically, and saw something that looked like a first aid kit, a slim wooden case, and a few other containers. They didn’t contain any hints of what they held at all. What, was Elliott embarrassed that he played doctor-nurse games or something, with that first aid kit?

Then Elliott crossed the room and sat down cross-legged on the old rug by his bed, and beckoned Alex to join him. Alex shrugged and knelt down beside the trunk, went to start grabbing things out of it, and then hesitated, looking to Elliott to see if that was okay.

Elliott smirked, leaned back on his hands, nodded.

Alex’s eyes moved to a flash of metal, and he picked that up first.

‘What are these?’ Alex said, staring at the thin silver chain connected two larger silver objects.

‘Clover clamps,’ Elliott replied, drumming his fingers on his bent knees. ‘For your nipples.’

‘ _Ow,’_ Alex said.

‘You’ll like them.’

‘Didn’t you just hear me say _ow?_ Like _right then?’_

‘You know, I did hear that,’ Elliott said, tilting his head to the side. ‘It sounded an awful lot like curiosity masked poorly by dissent. Don’t you think?’

Alex dropped the clamps next to him and glared at Elliott, then kept looking. In a plastic container, he found a surprising amount of candles of different colours.

‘Oh, candles? So like,’ Alex scoffed, ‘because it’s _totally_ important to set the mood when you’re hurting some-’

‘For dripping wax onto people,’ Elliott said.

‘Wait, hot wax? Really? That’s a thing people do?’

‘You haven’t heard of it? That’s…quite tame, honestly.’

‘It’s _tame?!’_

Elliott smirked, and then his hand came up and covered the laugh that followed.

‘Are you shitting me? This is fucking _tame?’_ Alex shook one of the candles at him, and Elliott’s laughter just got louder. And at first Alex thought that Elliott had been making fun of him, and then he realised that Elliott was laughing because it really _was_ tame by his standards. Alex turned the candle in his hand, staring down at it. As a kid, he’d liked to poke his fingers into the wax and watch it dry, and then peel it off and see his fingerprints.

It had not, in any way, been remotely arousing.

The trunk was huge. It was deep, it was well packed, and everything was organised very neatly. Alex was amazed at how much Elliott had managed to fit in.

‘So…whip?’ Alex said, holding up the thing with multiple black tails. They felt really nice. The leather smelled earthy and clean.

‘Flogger,’ Elliott said calmly.

‘It feels soft,’ Alex said. ‘I kind of like it. Does it hurt?’

‘If I want it to,’ Elliott said, shrugging. ‘It’s a heavy duty leather and it has a good weight in the handle, so it is made for heavier work. But it wouldn’t rip you apart or anything like that.’

‘Cool,’ Alex said, putting the flogger down next to him. The handle did feel oddly weighted, but he didn’t really understand how those things were supposed to work. It was made with such care though. He lifted out the next whip. Another flogger? He didn’t know. It was something that must have been for stroking people, made of long, soft hair. He held it up, and it caught the light, glinting. Like the fall of a horse’s tail.

‘Horse hair?’ Alex said, running his fingers through it.

‘Mm,’ Elliott said. ‘Can be quite painful, depending on the person.’

_‘This?’_

‘It can sting a lot, some people don’t like it. So, of course, I like it. But actually it’s a good introductory whip for beginners, because most react like you do, and think it’s utterly benign. Because you have to put a fair bit of heft in to make it hurt, and otherwise, stroking someone’s body with the hair can make them look upon floggers and other corporal implements more fondly.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said, putting the flogger back down again. He saw a long, flat thing that looked like a table tennis bat, except it was a solid black. ‘This?’

‘Rubber paddle.’

 _‘_ Feels like it’d hurt. _’_ Alex said, picking it up. He picked up the thing beneath it. Long, thin, with a rubber grip. It was like a very thin cane. He stared at it dubiously. It looked like it wouldn’t hurt at all, but he knew from having tree branches whip against him while hiking that it probably hurt a lot.

‘Pain stick,’ Elliott said calmly.

‘It’s actually called a fucking _pain stick?’_

‘Apropos marketing, if you ask me,’ Elliott said, smiling gently.

‘Motherfucker,’ Alex whispered. There were at least five other things in the box for hitting people. A wooden paddle that looked way nicer than it probably felt, something that was long and rectangular with holes in it, a coiled leather thing that actually looked like it was a _whip,_ something that looked like a truncated belt that Alex wasn’t going to touch because that was a bit too much like what he’d experienced as a kid, and another flogger with bright blue tails.

Next to it, a bulbous rubber object with a long nozzle. He picked it up and stared at it, turning it in his hands.

‘Enema bulb,’ Elliott said.

‘I kind of dread to ask but…what?’

‘Dip the nozzle into a liquid of some description; lukewarm water, if you’d like to be boring, and then squeeze it up someone’s juicy, ripe ass. As many times as they can take it, really.’

 _‘Oh my god,’_ Alex exclaimed, his voice jumping an octave. ‘Oh my god. _What?_ You should’ve put that in the pile of stuff you didn’t want me to see. I don’t want to see this. Have you _used_ it?’

‘It’s been disinfected,’ Elliott said, and Alex dropped it like it was burning him alive, and Elliott began laughing like he’d made the most hilarious joke. ‘No, it’s new.’

‘ _That’s_ why you’re laughing?’ Alex said. ‘You monster. I hate you. This is all gross. Wait, why do you have masking tape?’

‘Comes in handy,’ Elliott said.

‘You have lots of masking tape.’ There were at least ten rolls of the stuff, in varying widths. Some of it was brightly coloured. Then, a tape that didn’t look as shiny, and Alex touched it and was surprised to find it was soft.

‘Vet tape,’ Elliott said. ‘For people who are allergic to adhesive.’

‘Oh this one I know. This is a blindfold, right?’

‘Mmhm.’

Alex dropped that by his side, and then proceeded to find cuffs, a ball gag, a gag that Elliott called a ‘bit’ that reminded Alex a little too much of what horses wore in their mouths, and then there were cock rings and more. He also found the butt plugs that Elliott had talked about two weeks before, and they were _all_ larger than the one he’d used on Alex. There was one made of glass that was way too cold.

‘Nope, not freezing my ass off for anyone. Ever.’

‘They can be heated,’ Elliott drawled, grasping his knees and leaning back in a stretch. ‘Would you like that, do you think? Something warmer than even you, heating you from the inside out?’

‘Shit,’ Alex said, dropping that back into its suede bag and trying not to think about it, his dick throbbing twice.

Then, Alex realised he’d stumbled across the ‘things you’d put up other people’s asses if you were fucking nuts’ part of the trunk, and that was kind of weird. He didn’t want to touch much more of it, but his eyes roved over everything. Elliott helpfully pointed things out. The anal beads. The prostate massagers which looked kind of boring. The toys that looked like they belonged to animals or fantasy creatures and didn’t even pretend to resemble human cocks, with ridges and bumps and crazy silicone colour blends.

‘Yeah that’s just weird,’ Alex choked out, telling himself that he didn’t need to squirm or adjust himself or draw attention to his dick in _any_ way.

‘Well, you know what they say darling, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.’

‘No one says that about butt toys,’ Alex grumbled, moving to another corner of the trunk. There, he found a squat little flogger that could have almost fit in the palm of his hand, tails and all. It had pink and white leather strips, and after everything else, looked kind of cute. He picked it up and swished the strips like they were Haley’s pom-poms.

‘Aw, look, Elliott! It’s a baby flogger. It’s like the other floggers got together and had this tiny cute little-’

‘That’s for your cock and balls,’ Elliott said blandly.

Alex threw it down so fast – whole face screwing up at just the _thought_ of it – and Elliott burst out laughing; deep, loud laughter that made Alex’s face burn red.

‘You’re having me on,’ Alex said. ‘God, you’re not, are you? Why is it _pink and white?’_

‘Because if I’m flogging your cock and balls, maybe I want you to feel a little humiliated, Alex. That’s why.’

_‘Oh my god.’_

‘What have you got against the colour pink, Alex? Showing some of that dreaded heteronormative brainwashing? Pink’s a perfectly luscious colour, and as brutal as I need it to be,’ Elliott said, his voice a little deeper than before, even seductive. Alex flipped him the finger and kept looking through the trunk.

His fingers moved over something cold, metal, and he picked it up.

‘What?’ Alex said, holding up a silver, elegant looking _thing_ that ended in two prongs with rubber tips _._

‘Nose hooks.’

‘Nose…hooks,’ Alex said, and then stared at it more closely and shook his head. The sudden image he got was flat out terrifying. The arousal he’d been feeling had vaporised. ‘Uh uh. No. Okay, _no.’_

Then, two plates of clear acrylic, and some metal screws and fasteners, and he just stared, perplexed, until Elliott said:

‘Ball crusher.’

Alex looked up and stared at him. It suddenly hit him that everything he’d done with Elliott so far, everything Elliott had done with _him,_ while it had blown Alex’s mind, was probably super tame to Elliott. Was probably just…like nothing at all.

‘Do you even like what we do?’ Alex said, his voice shrinking in on itself. ‘Do you like…need all this stuff?’

The way Elliott’s eyes widened would’ve almost been comical, if Alex wasn’t so sure of the answer. His fingers closed around the acrylic plates and he looked at everything. Like, sure, he was curious about _some_ of it, but he wasn’t like… Was it meant to be every time? Did Elliott expect it every time?

‘No,’ Elliott said, taking the ball crusher – who the fuck invented something like that when it _wasn’t_ for torture? – from his hands and putting it down. He moved closer and took Alex’s hand in his. ‘No, Alex. You and I, we have a dynamic I enjoy a great deal, I _love_ what we do. It’s not as though we’re scaling a mountain, and this is the content you can expect to see at the top. There’s a reason it’s all in a trunk, under my bed.’

‘Because the people of Pelican Town would think you’re a murderer if they saw any of it,’ Alex said, only faintly mollified.

‘Well,’ Elliott said, shrugging a shoulder. ‘That too. But, my flower, I mean it. I’m not sitting back, waiting for you to be ready for any of these, and I won’t feel…neglected, if you don’t want any of it. Firstly, I know you’re curious about some of it anyway, but secondly, you’re already a masochist, and you’re already into power play, you like the things I want a partner to like. The toys are secondary. They’re always secondary to that.’

Alex was curious about some of it, but there was some stuff he didn’t even want to know about. It was weird, thinking that Elliott had experience with so much. It didn’t feel the same as being intimidated by someone who had a ton of sex partners, and Alex didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe because it was obvious some of this stuff wasn’t just about sex, or didn’t have to be about sex at all.

‘You’ve seen enough for one day,’ Elliott said firmly. ‘Do you want to pick two to try later? I noticed you adding to that little pile by your side. I assumed those were the things you _are_ interested in?’

Alex looked down at the pile by his hip and flushed. He’d not even realised he was doing it. Though he picked up the pain stick and put it back in the trunk because, yeah, maybe in a million years, but not any time soon. What shithead invented something like that and then put it on the market?

But the rest of it… Alex made himself shrug. He’d been turned on in the beginning, but now he was just kind of freaked out. He knew it would settle, and he knew it was mostly about being pretty sure he wasn’t good enough for Elliott.

But he was pretty sure about that anyway. Which was ridiculous, because he’d _hated_ Elliott.

Except that he’d hated Elliott because Elliott was too good for the town. Too good for Alex. Even then. Even when he opened his mouth and poison spilled out.

‘Alex,’ Elliott said, reaching out and taking some of the things that Alex had chosen. He picked up an empty, black canvas bag in the trunk, and unceremoniously dropped the items in there, until there was nothing left by Alex’s side. He placed the bag in the trunk, and decisively closed it, the latches snapping loudly. ‘Alex, do you want to go for a walk?’

‘Nah,’ Alex said, thinking that he’d just totally killed the mood. There had been a mood, right? Elliott had been laughing. They’d been having fun. ‘Sorry.’

‘Goodness, there’s no reason to be sorry,’ Elliott said, and with one leg, kicked the trunk back under his bed. Except it needed several kicks, because it was so damn heavy. ‘It’s normal, Alex. You’ve seen some things you’re curious about, and some things you’d never let near you. That’s good for me to know, and I’m certain there’s a gentler way to introduce you to it, but frankly it’s under my bed _not_ because the town would think I’m a serial killer, but because I really did walk away from a lot of what I had back in the city. I just got very tired.’

‘And you moved somewhere you hated,’ Alex said.

‘I…’ Elliott rubbed at his forehead and then nodded. ‘When I first saw it on the real estate site, I called it a musty, dank prison. And then I bought it.’

‘That’s like- Honestly, that’s _crazy.’_

‘Well, I was not feeling particularly stable at the time. Sometimes you attain the things you’re looking for and realise that they’re not enough, and then have to find something else. I was furious that… I was incensed at my lack of contentment when I had all I wanted. So I suppose this was a punishment.’

Alex chewed on the inside of his lip, and then made himself stop.

‘Hey,’ Alex said, wishing he knew what to say when someone said something like that, ‘do you want to just lie down for a bit?’

‘Yes,’ Elliott said fervently, standing up and holding out his hand.

Alex got up and saw over Elliott’s shoulders all the things that Elliott _didn’t_ want him to see – but they were in containers, and in that weird first aid kit, and he looked back at Elliott and saw the apologetic expression on his face.

‘I can put that away first,’ Elliott said.

Alex shook his head, and they both fell onto the bed at the same time. At first, Alex didn’t know how he wanted to lie down, but eventually he decided he’d face Elliott, his knees bent and legs tangled, one of Elliott’s legs between his own. Elliott was taller than him. Not a ton of people in the town were taller than him, but Elliott was.

‘You say you’re not gonna move,’ Alex said, ‘but you will. There’s no way you can come somewhere you don’t like, stay somewhere you don’t like…’ _Fuck someone you don’t like._ ‘You can’t make that something you like. There’s no cafes here. There’s none of the places where you can use that stuff and people won’t blink at you. The library’s tiny.’

‘I’m writing,’ Elliott said quietly.

‘Do you even like _that?’_ Alex said.

‘I do,’ Elliott said, placing his hand up against Alex’s collarbone, his thumb stroking gently. ‘I rather do.’

‘But I can’t _read_ it. You won’t let me.’

‘I’m not ready for you to read it,’ Elliott said. ‘But you’ll be the first to look at it, when I am. Or perhaps I’ll read it aloud. Poetry is meant for it, its cadences felt in the mouth, taking shape in the air around you.’

With a kind of horror, Alex realised that he wanted Elliott to stay. He wanted him to stay in Pelican Town, and he wanted to keep seeing him, and what had started out as getting his ass pounded by someone he couldn’t stand had turned into something way more alarming. Because Elliott was going to break his heart. And worse, he’d break it on the way back to a life he’d fucking _wanted,_ with people who desired him, and a world rich with things that Alex would never really _get_ – the city, university, whatever sex clubs existed.

‘Alex?’ Elliott said quietly.

‘Nothing,’ Alex said.

‘Look at me.’

So Alex looked up, wishing that he had all that long hair to hide behind, except no, because then he’d look like a total loser. There was no way he could pull off long hair like Elliott could.

Elliott’s mouth was pinched, his thumb came up and pressed to the side of Alex’s mouth, and Alex felt like he was being studied.

‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ Elliott said, looking from one eye, to the other, because they were so close. ‘Let you look through the trunk like that. I apologise. It’s scared you.’

‘That’s not it,’ Alex said, and then cursed himself for saying that instead of just saying that he wasn’t scared at all.

‘Then what is it?’

‘Weird mood,’ Alex said. ‘Nothing, I guess. It’s nothing. I dunno. Maybe it was seeing all that shit in the trunk.’

Except that Alex had been ragging on Elliott about living in a place he didn’t like before. Except he’d asked Elliott if he was going to make a ton of money and leave. He ducked his head and pressed forward, pushing his forehead into Elliott’s chest. Elliott’s hand moved from Alex’s mouth, and instead moved around the back of his head and held him close.

‘Alex?’ Elliott said, sounding even more concerned, which wasn’t helping.

‘It’s nothing,’ Alex said. ‘Really.’

‘I’m _so_ convinced now,’ Elliott said. ‘It’s remarkable how convinced I am that everything is fine. I have never been less worried in my entire life.’

‘Well I’m not gonna fucking _talk_ about it so just suck it up and deal with your precious little feelings or whatever.’

‘Ah,’ Elliott said. ‘Okay then.’

At first, he thought he’d get pushed away for saying that, but instead Elliott just pulled him closer, leaning into him with his whole body. The closeness was good. It was warm, it created a quiet space in his mind, but his worries leaked into that stillness, and he couldn’t ignore them.

Alex had been worried that Elliott didn’t have anyone here, like Alex had his grandparents, and Haley, and his dog. But now he worried that it meant Elliott had no reason to stay. Elliott probably had anchors back in the city. People he missed. People who knew big words and read thick books and joked in jargon that Alex couldn’t begin to wrap his head around. Smart people who understood their bodies and minds and hung out in cafes and mocked people who drank _instant_ or something.

Elliott pulled him closer, and Alex let himself sink into it, wondering if he should be trying to remember this somehow. Trying to fix it in his mind for the point in the future when Elliott would be gone, and people would just talk about that pretentious dude in the green velvet coat, like he didn’t matter. Why couldn’t the twat from Pinkstone farms leave instead?

‘Little though it may be worth,’ Elliott said gently, ‘I’m here.’

 _Yeah,_ Alex thought bitterly, _but for how long?_


	6. Chapter 6

Alex initially felt like he’d been slumming it with Elliott. In fact, that was what he’d said in the beginning, after the first time Elliott had fucked him sore and Alex had been so disgusted with himself that he’d balled it up and flung it back at Elliott:

‘Y’know, I could pretty much get anyone I wanted, and here I am with you, old man. Enjoy it, a pretentious dick like you couldn’t get better.’

At the time, Elliott had grinned and said nothing at all.

Now, Alex understood that Elliott could never really be damaged by the early insults, by the ‘game’ of their meanness, because in an instant, Elliott could go back to the city and satiate all of his desires. He could have just about anyone he wanted. Alex, meanwhile, had only slept with one other person, and it had mostly been furtive fumbling behind the stacks and he was kind of grateful that she and her family had moved away from Pelican Town six months later, because every time he saw her – not that she was cruel or anything – he was reminded of how embarrassing it had been to realise he had no idea what he was doing. At all.

Elliott was slumming it with Alex.

Alex felt that acutely. Sometimes he tried to see himself the way Elliott saw him. As some country town jock who was the very definition of a medium-fish in a very tiny fishbowl, who thought he was hot shit and foolishly believed he was going to have a great professional sports career. Someone who Elliott would probably describe as ‘virginal,’ except… Alex blinked as he kept up with his push ups, grunting as he always did once he got past the hundred mark – except Elliott had actually called him virginal in the beginning, hadn’t he? He’d laughed at Alex’s flush of mortification that had followed. 

Later, during the crunches that normally helped make his mind go blank, he decided abruptly that he needed some time away from Elliott to think.

Elliott wouldn’t even notice.

*

It was easy to convince himself he had things to do. It was spring, the town was way more active, and Alex was not only teaching Sebastian the basics of personal fitness, but Sebastian had dragged Sam along, and now Alex was teaching _two_ people. Maybe he was even starting to get the hang of it.

Alex thought Sam wanted to get buff to impress Abigail, but he kept his mouth shut about it, because he was pretty sure if he started throwing stones about who was hot for who in the town, that’d all come falling down on him _really_ fast.

 

‘Why aren’t you doing this like…properly?’ Sam said one day, wiping sweat off his face with a gym towel that wasn’t good enough to wick up shit. Alex had told him to change it, but Sam had a chronic problem with spending any money he got on band equipment.

‘What do you mean?’ Alex said.

‘Like, why aren’t you a personal trainer?’ Sam said, looking over to Sebastian like he was trying to gain support for what he was saying.

Alex and Sam hadn’t been close in school. They’d hardly talked to each other. They made eye contact in corridors sometimes and that was about it. Sam seemed a little shy around him, which Alex understood more in high-school, but was always surprised by once he’d graduated. Everyone knew he wasn’t some jock going places by now, didn’t they?

‘Yeah,’ Sebastian said, which seemed to be about all the support he was going to lend Sam in the matter.

‘Just…’ Alex frowned. He’d never even considered it. Just as quickly, his mind shot it down. ‘I dunno. You’ve gotta go to school for that.’

‘What?’ Sam said, surprised. ‘You don’t, really. I think there might be an exam if you want accreditation, but my Aunt’s one, and she didn’t go to college or anything. I think you need a CPR thingie and something else. But then you could totally do it.’

‘For who though?’ Alex said, laughing. ‘I’m paying Sebastian back for a favour, and you’re always broke. Everyone else in the town who might be interested does the pilates shit with Caroline, and that leaves just about no one.’

Sam’s expression turned sour, but he just shrugged and walked off in the direction of the shower. Sebastian hung back, looking steadily at Alex.

‘I could help you with the exam,’ Sebastian said.

‘Nah,’ Alex said quickly, shaking his head and feeling a little panicked, not sure why. Sebastian must’ve figured out how shit he was at reading, that part wasn’t _hard,_ but why would Sebastian want to _help?_ ‘It’s not like I can train you _more.’_

‘Good,’ Sebastian said. ‘Because I’d be doing it as a friend. You know, friends? Believe me, I’m not so good at them myself. But if the exam or reading the material was part of the reason, I’d help.’

Alex hesitated for a long time, and then just nodded. Not in agreement, not even because he wanted to be a personal trainer – he had no idea about that – but because he felt like he had to give some kind of response.

Sebastian sighed and walked to the showers, and Alex decided he’d hang back and use the free weights until his arms were numb.

*

Two days later, Alex was washing dishes in the kitchen and trying not to think about Elliott and pretty much failing, when his grandma said:

‘That lovely young gentleman you’ve taken up with is coming over for dinner. I’m going to be baking some cookies. Do you think he’d like the chocolate chip?’

‘Yeah, Grandma, everyone does,’ Alex said, without thinking, and then turned while holding a plate covered in suds. They slipped down his arms and onto his shoes, and his eyes widened. ‘Wait, hang on- _Taken up with?_ I’m just… When did he come over?’

‘Only about two hours ago, dear. You were out on your run. He seemed most put out you weren’t here.’

‘I-’

‘So I invited him over for dinner.’

‘God,’ Alex said, staring at her

‘Oh dear, should I not have? Are you both going through a bit of a rough patch?’

‘Huh?’ Alex was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his grandpa had been right all along – his grandma was totally the first to bring it up. ‘What? But… Grandma, I’m sure he doesn’t want to-’

‘Of course he does!’ she waved her hand at him like she couldn’t believe what he was saying, and Alex reached back and let the plate fall back into the sink. He wiped his arms off with the dish cloth. ‘I told him you could spend the night over at his afterwards, if you wished. I’m long past any illusions that you don’t have sex, Alex.’

_‘What?!’_

‘Unless you don’t?’ she said inquisitively, and Alex turned abruptly back to the sink, ears burning.

‘Grandma, we don’t talk about this? Like, _ever._ Okay? _Ever.’_

‘Of course I’m incredibly happy with George, but back in the day, Alex, a fine young fellow like Elliott would have been welcome to lift my-’

‘Oh no, we don’t finish that sentence,’ Alex said, spinning away from the sink and grasping his grandma about the shoulders, turning her and steering her into the lounge, even as she started _chuckling_ at him. ‘Grandpa, it’s time for you to deal with her now. She’s being gross again.’

‘That’s my Evelyn,’ his grandpa said.

‘When is he coming over?’ Alex said.

‘About seven?’ she said, tilting her head.

‘I’ll go get him before,’ Alex said.

‘Lovely,’ she said, beaming at him.

Alex walked to his room, closed the door, and fell onto his bed as melodramatically as he had when he was a teenager and he’d gotten a bad result on a test. Damn it. If he wanted to give Elliott a break, or sort out his own feelings or whatever, he was probably going to have to give his grandparents a heads up first. And in the meantime, he should probably stop thinking about Elliott’s _sex trunk of magic wonders_ , and he should definitely stop thinking about Elliott in general.

*

The door was locked when Alex went to fetch Elliott and he realised that he didn’t even know if Elliott would be home. But a moment later the door opened and Elliott grinned dangerously at him.

‘So nice of you to come round!’ Elliott said. ‘You needn’t have bothered, I was going to see you in twenty minutes.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said flatly. ‘I was told. Stalker.’

‘Me?’ Elliott said, pressing fingertips to his chest, looking all fake upset with the situation. Alex knew it was fake, because there was a gleam to Elliott’s eyes, and he smiled as he turned away from the door.

‘So come on then,’ Alex said.

‘You’re early. It doesn’t take that long to get to your house. So come in, make yourself at home! Perhaps you’d like to suck my cock before we get there? Trust me, it won’t take all that long.’

‘Maybe you could suck mine,’ Alex retorted, even as he closed the door behind him.

‘Yes, actually, that sounds like it would take _much_ less time.’

Alex grunted in shock as he was pushed back against the door, then Elliott clicked the lock into place and reached over and hastily pulled the curtains closed at the closest window. Alex stared as Elliott dropped gracefully to his knees and undid the tie of Alex’s shorts.

‘You-’

‘Mm?’ Elliott said, pulling them down and bending forwards to straight away lick a stripe over Alex’s still soft dick. ‘This won’t do at all.’

Alex placed his hand in Elliott’s hair, and felt his fingers curling instead of pushing his head away. Elliott looked up at him, even as he grasped Alex’s cock and started jacking him off. Slow and sure, and Alex forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Well, he didn’t _forget,_ so much as decide it wasn’t really that important to stop Elliott from doing this. Like, if Elliott _wanted_ to, who was Alex to get in the way of that?

He was getting hard so fast that he sagged back against the door, mouth already dry.

‘Okay,’ Alex said. ‘Okay.’

‘I think we’re going to have a talk later, though,’ Elliott said amiably.

‘Okay,’ Alex agreed, not really caring about that either.

Alex breathed out a harsh sound when Elliott took all of Alex’s cock into his mouth, right down to the root. It wasn’t difficult, Alex wasn’t fully hard yet, but still…Alex was amazed at Elliott’s ability to just _do_ that. Alex always need a period of: _Holy shit, holy shit, it’s right in front of my face, dick alert, holy shit,_ before he was able to actually press his lips to it, or lick it, or whatever.

Apparently Elliott didn’t have that part of his brain that short-circuited whenever he was near a dick.

Alex had been sucked off by Elliott before, and it was always too fast, too hard, riding some edge where Alex frantically clutched at Elliott’s hair and tried to remember how to stand and gasped over and over again.

It ached, how quickly he got hard. How much suction Elliott was using. Even the way Elliott would stab his tongue into the tip of Alex’s cock, instead of licking it.

‘Not…not to take away from the fact that- that you’re sucking me,’ Alex gasped, ‘that part is _great._ But, _oh my god, Elliott._ Fuck. Ease up. _Ease up.’_

Elliott only hummed, and then leaned back, eyes gleaming, mouth open and wet with spit. Alex whined when Elliott stopped, and thought that was maybe why he shouldn’t speak when Elliott had his mouth on him.

‘Whyever should I do that?’ he said, grinning, his hair tangled in Alex’s fingers. ‘Look, you like it so much, petal.’

He grasped the base of Alex’s cock in his fist, and then with three fingers, tapped his fingers in a small slap against the head. Alex rocked forward, then slammed back into the door. It sounded like a giant was knocking, especially when Alex did it again. Elliott repeated the motion, the little wet slapping sounds hitting Alex’s ears as the sting of it shot through him.

‘Wait,’ Alex gasped. ‘Stop. Stop. That’s- You can’t just _hit-_ Just- _Ah!’_

‘What’s worse? Hand or mouth? Pick one.’

‘What kind of _choice-_ You-’ Alex hissed when one of the slaps crossed from stinging into a kind of pain that left him sucking down breaths quickly. ‘Mouth. Okay? _Mouth!’_

‘Honestly, it’s like you don’t want us to get there on time,’ Elliott purred. ‘Be more solicitous, think of your dear grandparents.’

Elliott leaned forward again, just as Alex shouted:

_‘I’m not going to think about my fucking-_ ’

Elliott’s laughter around Alex’s cock was just another sensation soothing the sting that Elliott had created. Alex sagged back against the closed door and less than a minute later, was coming into that rough suction, groaning at the sound Elliott made when he started swallowing Alex’s come.

Then, Elliott was up on his feet, tucking Alex’s spit-slick, still softening cock back into his pants – ignoring the sounds of discomfort Alex made – and pulling Alex’s shorts back up again.

‘There,’ Elliott said, touching the corner of his mouth, then walking back over to the chest of drawers where he kept his hairbrush. ‘Give me a minute to tidy my hair, and we can leave.’

Alex let his knees buckle, just a little, and stared up at Elliott’s ceiling, face still burning, breath still coming fast.

‘You’re an asshole,’ Alex managed.

‘You’re one of the cruellest people I’ve ever met,’ Elliott said, turning and winking at him, ‘saying that after I’ve just swallowed your semen. I can taste you in my mouth.’

‘Gross.’

‘Want to try?’

_‘Gross.’_

But Elliott walked back over anyway. Alex made a groaning noise of discontent when he could taste the bitterness of his own come on Elliott’s tongue, but he still sank into the kiss, and he felt a bit more put together once Elliott withdrew and brushed his hair into something resembling order.

*

The dinner went surprisingly well. At least, Alex thought his grandparents seemed happy, and Elliott seemed pleased, and Alex thought he was doing a good job of pretending that everything was fine and normal, even if Elliott gave him lingering, contemplative looks from time to time.

Afterwards, his grandma practically ushered them _both_ out of the house, Elliott looking between her and Alex, as though checking it was actually all right. Then, Elliott ate cookies all the way home, and Alex wondered where he actually put carbs. Did he just have a great metabolism or something? Was it why his ass was so nice to grab sometimes?

_Don’t think about that._

‘They know,’ Elliott said, around what must have been his eighth cookie.

‘Yeah,’ Alex said.

‘Did you tell them?’

‘They figured it out. Because they’re not stupid.’

‘Amazing,’ Elliott said. ‘Also, these cookies are scrumptious.’

‘Yeah. I know.’

‘I think I ate enough for five people,’ Elliott said, his hair being blown in every direction by the excitable ocean winds.

Alex just nodded.

They didn’t say anything else as they walked back to Elliott’s house. A couple of times, Alex felt Elliott’s gaze on him, but he kept his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched and didn’t return it. He knew that it’d been a good night. He could tell that Elliott had enjoyed himself, and nothing had gone _wrong,_ and yet Alex felt like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he hated it.

He didn’t want to retreat to the warmth of Elliott’s home. He didn’t want the familiarity of stamping sand off his shoes, or the sound of Elliott’s kettle going as he made a cup of tea. He didn’t want the sound of the match flaring before Elliott lit the candles that he always blew out before sleeping, or the golden glow that made the place seem even more homely than it already did.

‘I’m going to die,’ Elliott groaned, leaning against the kitchen bench. ‘I haven’t eaten that much since…the luau? Maybe? I know better. She shouldn’t be allowed to cook food that wonderful.’

‘If you tell her that the next time you see her, she’ll keep you in cookies and shit for the rest of your life.’

_Or the whole two or three months you’re going to stick around._

‘Really?’ Elliott said, half-smiling. ‘Oh dear. I’ll need to get better at swimming, to keep up with that. Has she always been that way? My mother was a terrible cook.’

‘Was she?’

‘Terrible,’ Elliott laughed. ‘The only memory I have of her trying to bake anything, is the smell it left behind in the house and the ringing of the smoke alarms. Home-cooked meals like what you get, what a rarity. Does she cook like that all the time? Every day?’

Alex nodded, and then shrugged. Of course she did. She cooked all the time. She made leek omelettes for her husband, she made chocolate chip cookies for people in the town, she brought bakes and cakes to the festivals and she’d brought food over to Alex and his mom when his mom was too unwell to make anything, back before his father had left.

‘You’re so lucky,’ Elliott said.

‘Yeah.’

Alex wished he could _feel_ lucky.

Instead, he stayed quiet as Elliott brewed his tea, and looked over to the bed. Maybe he could say he needed some sleep or something. Maybe he could avoid whatever chat Elliott wanted to have.

‘You don’t seem all that talkative today,’ Elliott said. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Nah.’

‘Alex…’

‘It’s not, hey,’ Alex said, lying through his teeth. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. He didn’t want to be upset that Elliott was trading down or whatever, because as Elliott said, Alex was _lucky._

Elliott sighed, and Alex knew he was probably ruining what had been a great evening, so he forced a smile and said:

‘Just tired. Think I just need some sleep.’

‘Ah, yes, I think we both do,’ Elliott said, though he didn’t sound convinced. But Elliott let it slide, and they spent the rest of the evening settling down, getting ready for bed.

*

Elliott fell asleep quickly. Probably some kind of food coma. Alex ended up pushing himself upright, resting his back against the headboard, bending his knees and looking down at Elliott.

He didn’t have a word for the way his whole upper body felt locked up with cold and despair, but Elliott probably did.

Alex looked over to the rose. He slid off the bed and approached it. No flowers now, and it wasn’t even trying to bud. Some of the leaves were glossy and dark, but the newer ones were weak and poorly formed. He reached down and caught himself just before he plucked one of the unfurling leaves away. Then he looked around Elliott’s shack – it really was more like a cottage or house, despite what Elliott called it – and felt that coldness become something heavier, more lost.

He didn’t belong here. When he’d been a kid, he’d run through it with Haley sometimes, and they’d call it haunted. That was when the windows hadn’t been paned with glass, and the building hadn’t been re-roofed, and they’d found a bird’s nest in the rafters. Back when the wind had whistled through and they’d all expected the place to be turned to driftwood over time.

Nostalgia brought other, darker memories with it. There was nowhere he could go in Pelican Town and not think about them, when he was in this mood.

Once, they’d all been on an unexpected picnic by the beach. He, his mom, his dad. It’d been a quiet day, no seams of white on the surf, and the waves gently lapping at the shore. It’d smelled of seaweed and salt. His dad had been in high spirits for once, not hungover or drunk, and Alex would have only been five or six, and playing with a gridball he’d gotten for his birthday. His dad had tossed it to him a few times after lunch, but he’d been full, and his mom didn’t play, and Alex just wanted to keep going. He just wanted to keep the goodness of the day alive.

Jokingly, he’d thrown the ball to his dad, thinking he’d catch it. Of course he’d catch it. Except that his dad had told him he’d had enough, and the ball landed in the middle of the picnic blanket and broken the plates they’d brought with them. It’d knocked over the bottle of wine.

Alex turned, scrutinising the walls, wondering which one his dad threw him against, while his mom had cleaned up the picnic and said nothing. He could almost feel the impact of it against his skin, but he couldn’t remember which wall it was. That annoyed him. But the place had changed a lot since then. Besides, his memories of the times when he’d been thrown against a stationary object weren’t always very clear.

It was the first time he’d thought about that in a while, certainly since Elliott had moved to Pelican Town. But it went like that sometimes. He could go to Pierre’s every week, but only rarely would he remember getting painkillers for his mom, or the way his dad would look at him if he spoke out of turn in front of the grocer.

Eventually, he forced himself back to the bed, and got under the covers, looking down at Elliott again. He wanted to pet his hair, but that might wake him. A part of him wanted to wake Elliott, but why? What would Alex even say? It wasn’t worth dragging that stuff up from the past, and apparently Elliott knew enough anyway because the townspeople all had their own memories that they never talked to Alex about, but concerned Alex and his family.  

He forced himself to lie down on his back and look up at the ceiling, focusing on the sound of the wind moving around the shack. No, it was a cottage. It was a _home_.

Maybe Elliott kept calling it a shack because he didn’t want it to be a home.

Alex pressed fists against his closed eyes and silently cussed himself out until he fell asleep, one hand by his face, the other having dropped to the pillow.

*

‘Alex? _Alex?!’_

He heard the frantic calling of his name around the time he became aware of the terror thundering through him. As he snapped awake, he knew what kind of nightmare he’d had, even as he didn’t remember it. Already, pushing himself backwards and up, his breathing choking in his chest and the heel of one palm thumping against his sternum over and over again like that would help.

_Where the fuck am I?_

Elliott sitting up and staring at him, hair in disarray, his eyes wide.

_Shit. Shit._

‘S’nothing,’ Alex gasped. ‘Hang on.’

He bent over himself and tried to get control of his breathing. It’d been _ages_ since he’d had a nightmare like that. Most of them – when he had them – he remembered, and they were crappy, but he didn’t wake up like this either. He’d startle awake quietly, turn over, and fall asleep again. They were just memories, and they’d already happened, and he’d gotten pretty good at clearing them out of his head.

Then, sometimes, there was _this._

No images, no pictures, no sounds, no voices, nothing but fear trying its utmost to crawl up and out of his throat. He’d wake choking back screams and hyperventilating, eyes already burning, his limbs moving in panic.

So he tipped his head forward and wondered what he’d done to wake Elliott, and just wanted this part to be _done._ Even as he felt like it would never be done, even as it wrestled him and won.

‘Can I-?’ Elliott said, and Alex didn’t even know what he was asking, until Alex felt a hand somewhere below his shoulder blades, rubbing hesitantly.

Things that Elliott didn’t know, that he was going to find out really fast – Alex would cry if someone touched him while he was still trying to come out of it. He almost said something, but he didn’t have enough control of his breathing to do that, and instead his next exhale was a weak sob.

_Fucking great._

But Elliott didn’t exclaim in disgust, and he didn’t yank his hand away, and he didn’t seem bothered at all when Alex placed his other hand over his mouth to try and silence himself.

‘It’s all right,’ Elliott said. ‘I mean, except, well, obviously it’s _not-_ I only mean that…whatever it is, you’re safe now. Come here. Oh, my flower, come here.’

Elliott was the one who moved forward, and Alex tilted into him, trying to remember the best number for counting his breaths. Was it to the count of four? Or five? No, he could only manage to the count of three, and he couldn’t manage the pause he was supposed to hold. One at the top of the inhale, one at the bottom of the exhale. Whatever. That would come later. Whatever.

Sure would be nice if he stopped crying though.

‘I-’ Alex managed, his voice tight, ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

‘What?’ Elliott said, sounding shocked. ‘ _No_. I heard- It almost sounded like you were having an asthma attack, but… A nightmare?’

Alex nodded, wondering what Elliott would think of him. He wanted to trot out some kind of apology, but he desperately didn’t want to talk. He wanted to forget it was happening, even as it was happening. So he focused on counting his breaths, tried not to feel completely dependent on that hand around his back, even though he totally did. He tried not to sound like he was crying, even though he was.

‘I think perhaps I should make you something warm to drink,’ Elliott said, and he scooted away, and Alex lashed out and clasped the shirt Elliott slept in sometimes, and kept hold of it. He was _clinging_ to it, felt like a child, but still couldn’t make himself stop.

He shook his head, hoping Elliott would understand, relieved when Elliott moved back and touched him again.

‘Well, then, let’s lie down. Here, come on, my shoulders are tense just looking at yours. Unless you don’t want to lie down?’

Alex didn’t want to _think._ So he didn’t respond at all, and when Elliott just started tugging him back to the bed, Alex went with it. He wished he’d twisted so that he was facing away from Elliott, but he didn’t have the energy to move. So he lay there, finally having wrested his breathing back to something measured, exhausted by some memory he couldn’t remember.

Maybe it wasn’t even a memory. Alex didn’t know.

‘I have nightmares sometimes,’ Elliott said quietly. ‘The car accident. It’s not often? I had them a lot in the beginning, and now I can go a year without having one. I don’t know which is worse. Having them all the time and expecting them, or having them hardly ever, and the shock of it.’

‘I have both,’ Alex said, grabbing the sheet and rubbing his eyes with it.

‘Both?’ Elliott said, sounding confused.

‘Uh, two kinds. Regular nightmares most nights, and then this pretty much never. Maybe twice a year. I dunno. Would rather have the regular ones. Get used to them.’

‘Oh,’ Elliott said.

‘Sorry, though,’ Alex added. ‘Just forget it happened.’

‘Mm.’ The sound was pure scepticism, and Alex would have said something belligerent, except Elliott had taken Alex’s hand where it had been holding the sheet, and was stroking his thumb across Alex’s sweaty palm. God, he’d broken out in a total cold sweat. That was probably why he felt chilled. ‘Alex, maybe we have a problem.’

‘A problem?’ Alex said, opening his eyes and staring at Elliott. ‘I said it only happens like twice a year, I can’t help-’

‘That’s not what I meant at all,’ Elliott said, frowning at him. ‘I mean, I… Alex you still hardly talk to me about anything. I understand there are things you don’t want to think about, but it gets frustrating when I have a feeling that showing you what was in the trunk drove you away in the first place, and the first night you spend here after that…does this to you.’

‘There’s like _no_ connection,’ Alex said, shivering at the thought. There wasn’t.

Was there?

‘Are you sure?’ Elliott said, raising his eyebrows.

‘Fuck, it wasn’t your stupid toy box, okay? It wasn’t that.’

‘But it was _something?’_

‘These nightmares aren’t caused by anything!’ Alex shouted, deciding that his quiet bedroom voice could go screw itself. He tried pushing back away from Elliott, and then when Elliott actually let him go, he hesitated at the corner of the bed, not wanting to leave. He really didn’t want to go anywhere at all.

‘Aren’t they?’ Elliott said, sounding as patient as Alex had sounded angry.

‘You already know how fucked up I am. So you can figure it out, can’t you? With that huge brain of yours?’

‘I can certainly draw connections,’ Elliott said. ‘But life has taught me that it’s far better to enquire directly, don’t you think? Do you want to lie down again? My flower, I don’t want to upset you, you’ve had quite a scare.’ 

Alex didn’t know how he did it. He didn’t know how Elliott could say a sentence like that and it make Alex feel calmer. No one was ever supposed to call him a _flower,_ and it be something that helped Alex relax. He lay down again, but he kept his back to Elliott this time, and faced the rest of the cottage.

Elliott pressed his body against Alex’s back, slid an arm beneath Alex’s and held him close.

‘Much better,’ Elliott sighed. ‘For you as well?’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said. He wiped at his eyes again, even though he wasn’t crying, they were getting itchy. ‘What do you know? Like, from the town? What have they told you already?’

Elliott was silent for a while, and Alex wondered what everyone knew. What they all talked about.

‘I know that your father was very violent,’ Elliott said eventually, his hand tightening against Alex’s stomach. ‘I know that he drank, but that he could be violent even when he didn’t. They say that he hit you and your mother, yelled or scolded, that she couldn’t go to work sometimes and you couldn’t go to school, and if anyone tried to intervene, he’d show quite the mean streak trying to get them off his back. For all accounts, he was monstrous. Perhaps he wasn’t always, but by the time he left you both, it was hard for you to get your lives back together again. Then, things were starting to get stable, she got cancer, and so she died.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said. That was pretty much the sum of it. Except Alex didn’t know that anyone had tried to intervene. He had a foggy memory of Gus coming over sometimes, but he’d always thought that was about something else.

‘Were you ever hospitalised?’ Elliott said.

‘Some,’ Alex replied, shrugging. ‘He was pretty good at it, though. So only like…I dunno, three times.’

‘Good at it,’ Elliott said flatly.

‘Yeah.’

‘Hitting you.’

‘Well…yeah,’ Alex said, and then laughed. ‘He got enough practice, didn’t he? He could’ve turned pro.’

Alex tensed a little when he felt Elliott nose his hair, and then he relaxed when he realised that was all Elliott was doing. Just rubbing his nose against Alex’s scalp. Which was weird, but also kind of nice.

‘He hit me in here, once,’ Alex said. ‘Before you came. Long time ago.’

Elliott tensed behind him, and Alex shrugged.

‘Mercy, do you think about that often?’ Elliott breathed.

‘First time was yesterday,’ Alex said. ‘I hadn’t thought about it since you moved in.’

‘And… You said it _wasn’t_ the contents of the trunk that disturbed you, but something else? Alex, I’d like to know what it was. If I’m tormenting you, I’d really like to be fully conscious of the fact so that I can do it as well as possible. This is all just a mess.’

A faint smile, because he could tell there was an attempt at humour in there. Alex leaned back into Elliott and wondered how he could even begin to talk about it without sounding like a total loser. He didn’t even know where to start. But he didn’t want Elliott to think it was his fault, because it wasn’t like that at all.

‘So, I love you,’ Alex said, matter-of-factly.

‘You… _do?’_ Elliott said, and Alex grimaced.

‘I didn’t _want_ to, so just… I didn’t _plan_ on it. It just _happened._ And I don’t dig it.’

‘You don’t _dig it,’_ Elliott repeated.

‘Look, if you’re just gonna make fun of me for how I say things, then you can just go fuck yourself.’

‘Ah, yes, my mistake, that I couldn’t tell until now that you loved me.’

‘Are you gonna let me talk, or what?’

Elliott was conspicuously silently after that, and Alex curled his legs up towards his chest, because he hadn’t really planned on starting with the whole love bullshit, and he kind of felt like he’d fucked himself over more than anything. He wanted to start a fight so he didn’t have to think about it, but this was the kind of thing that Elliott would bring up as soon as the fight was done, so…that wouldn’t work.

‘And you’re gonna leave,’ Alex said, picking at his cuticles. ‘Maybe you don’t think you will now. But you definitely will. And you’re kind of trading down to be with me, so-’

_‘Wait,’_ Elliott said sharply. ‘I’m _what?’_

‘You know… trading down. Going to the shit end of the buffet table.’

‘Not to be disrespectful during what is a very touching conversation, but have you _ever_ considered seeing a therapist?’

‘Shut up,’ Alex muttered. ‘No.’

‘Why would you think I’m- _Oh._ Let me guess, you saw about a thousand things you weren’t ready to see, and instead of just admitting you were scared, you went straight to thinking that I can’t get anything I want in this town, so I settled for you.’

‘No,’ Alex said stubbornly, ‘I based it on other stuff too.’

‘What other _stuff?’_

‘That you hate the sea and you don’t like it here and you _don’t want to be here._ And you’re used to getting laid all the time, and maybe you just want sex or something, and you don’t actually like me, and-’

‘I honestly thought I’d told you weeks ago, but either I didn’t say it clearly enough – entirely possible, it can sometimes take me a while to get to the point, though I do like to think that calling you my _panacea_ and my _true gold_ after a lifetime of _fool’s gold_ would have tipped you off at _least_ – or you didn’t hear me say it because you were too fucked out. I adore you. I love you. I don’t want to leave, and if I ever left, it would likely be on the back of you going into the city to play _pro,_ at which point I’d rather think you’d discard me, except you’d best believe that I can fight for someone when I want to, and I’ll be wordy about it.’

‘Like I’d know what a _fucking panacea is.’_

Elliott’s other arm slid beneath Alex’s head – rather obnoxiously, really – and he was holding Alex so closely that Alex just went limp into it, because despite the fact that they were arguing, this was kind of awesome. Best post-nightmare hug ever.

‘A panacea, also known as a cure for _all_ that ails you, also known as the Greek goddess, Panacea, the universal remedy to all illnesses. From the word: Panakeia.’

‘Nerd.’

A small breath of laughter at the back of Alex’s neck, while Alex tried to understand what Elliott was saying. It still didn’t seem real. Elliott thought he should see a therapist? Okay, that wasn’t…so radical, his grandparents had suggested the same thing a few times. Even his grandpa, who generally thought that therapists were evil, and sent up from hell to profit off other people’s misery.

‘But you don’t really like me,’ Alex said. ‘Because I’m too stupid for you. And you know that, Elliott, come on. You don’t want to feel like you’re constantly having to educate a first grader, right? You’re not that much of a know-it-all.’

‘I…’ Elliott’s voice was hoarse. For a moment, Alex felt that fear visit him again, like he was on the precipice of hearing Elliott agree with him outright. ‘I don’t even know where to start. I can’t- Firstly, I don’t hate myself that much. You might, but I certainly don’t. I wouldn’t be in a relationship with someone I didn’t respect or admire. I wouldn’t _bother._ What’s the point in that? Life is _literally_ too short to do that to myself. I don’t want to spend time with people who waste my days, so I won’t.

‘Is it even worth saying that I don’t think you’re stupid? Likely not! That’s what a professional should be handling, if you ask me. But still, for the record, even though I’ve said it before, I _don’t_ think you’re stupid. Certainly you aren’t a university educated tit who can recite forty Shakespearean sonnets without blinking, while still not knowing how to change the oil in their car, but do you know, Alex, there’s a lot of different types of intelligence, and being book-smart isn’t the only kind. But why should I sit here and say this to you for five hours, when you will simply go back to all the things your father said to you, and ignore me?’

Elliott sounded surprisingly forlorn, and it wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Elliott was supposed to agree with him, or maybe disagree but just say some rote phrases, and this was…different to what he’d expected. So Alex turned clumsily in Elliott’s arms and faced him, eyebrows pulled together, trying to figure it out.

‘I won’t beat it into you,’ Elliott said sadly, not looking away, ‘and I don’t have anything as loud as terror or rage to solder my truths to you, and they wouldn’t stick if I used those methods anyway. Only the bad things stick, when you use those methods, and he’s scarred you terribly. I suppose he _was_ good at it. What a horrid thing to be skilled at.’

No words came to mind, no retorts or sentences to ease how difficult those words were to hear. Especially since Elliott wasn’t saying them to be cutting or cruel, it was just the truth. Anything good he’d ever heard in his life, had never come with the same emphasis as a blow. When the punctuation was a smile, instead of his shoulder hitting a wall at full force, it was hard to pay attention to it, or feel like it was real. Smiles were the things that people used to hide bruises, not the bruises themselves.

Which was silly, too. Because what he remembered of his mom lay inside of him like glowing lights, and she’d never hit him. Not once. Her _smile…_

Alex didn’t understand it.

‘What was the nightmare about?’ Elliott said.

‘Nothing,’ Alex said. ‘I mean, I’m not being a dick- I just don’t see anything. It’s just fear. It’s just… You know that feeling you get, when you _know_ something really bad is about to happen, and there’s not a thing you can do about it, and you can throw anything out in front of it but you’re not gonna even slow it down, and you just have to sit there in your- in being that afraid, until it all comes down on you? It’s that feeling. But worse. Bigger. It lasts longer. I dunno. That’s all it is.’

‘It sounds awful,’ Elliott said, touching his fingers to Alex’s cheek.

They kept looking at each other, and eventually it was too much. Alex looked away. Sometimes Elliott looked at him like he was complicated, like a puzzle, and Alex didn’t really get it. He closed his eyes when those fingers stroked over his cheek, over the faint grain of stubble. He was due a shave.

‘You said you love me,’ Alex said, the words sounding thick and clumsy in his mouth.

‘I did,’ Elliott said.

‘Do you really?’

‘I do,’ Elliott said.

‘How do you know?’ Alex said.

Elliott rested his forehead against Alex’s and kept his hand up by their faces. It ended up resting beneath Alex’s jaw, where his skin was warmer than Elliott’s fingertips.

‘I just do,’ Elliott said. ‘Why? How do you know? That you love me?’

‘Oh.’ Alex picked at the shirt Elliott was wearing and then shrugged. ‘I dunno. You make me want to not be as crappy as I think I am.’

Elliott hiccupped some kind of noise that could have been a laugh, or a sob, or something else.

‘I think,’ Elliott said, ‘I am _so_ fortunate to have met you. But how I wish… There are very few situations in my life where my words aren’t adequate. I’ve used them to seduce people, to win high grades, to share love, to persuade others to join me in ridiculous ventures, but Alex…you’re one of the only people I’ve ever met who is impervious to the things I say when I need them to count _most._ I don’t have words to convince you of the things that I think, but I do know that I want to stay. And, for the love of god, I am not _trading down to the shit end of the buffet table._ I swear, Alex, I…’

Elliott’s dramatic exasperation escalated, then vanished. He held Alex close and didn’t let go. Alex sank into it, still shaking the aftermath of the nightmare, knowing that he’d have wake tomorrow and couldn’t unsay the words he’d spoken.

‘Later,’ Elliott said, his voice quieter than before, like he was falling asleep again, ‘I’d like to talk about how we’re going to tell the town that we’re together.’

‘You want to tell them?’

‘Yes,’ Elliott said. ‘Of course. I can’t wait to tell them that I’m the happy owner of a defensive, angry spitfire of a creature who needs therapy and has an ass I could bounce coins off of, if I wanted to.’

‘I can’t wait for you to tell them that too,’ Alex said. ‘Use those words. I’ve never seen someone burned in a bonfire before. But y’know, there’s always a first time.’

Elliott hummed, pleased, and Alex smiled a little.

‘Also, I’m very proud of you being mine, so I’d like to start telling people,’ Elliott said.

‘Yeah?’

Elliott moved his hand so it was cupping the back of Alex’s head, shifted his fingers so that he could tilt Alex’s head back, and then kissed him. It was slow, but still overwhelming. Elliott was generous with lips and tongue, the taste of toothpaste lingering distantly in both of their mouths.

‘Yes,’ Elliott said against his mouth. ‘Do you want to get up for a little? I could read to you. Or, if you liked, we could lie here and listen to the wind and waves outside. I’ve come to enjoy that part of waking in the middle of the night.’

‘I like it too,’ Alex said. ‘We could just do that.’

Elliott kissed him again, and Alex thought that of all the times he’d ever woken up from that stupid nightmare, this was like a new path, something he wanted to hold onto but didn’t know how. Alex sighed into Elliott’s mouth and slipped his hand beneath Elliott’s shirt. It was too warm, they’d have to move apart soon.

But it was good, kissing gently, listening to the wind and the waves.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: Safeword use. Paddling. Ball gag. Blindfolds. Clamps. You know, the fun stuff basically.
> 
> We’re starting to wind down now, I expect there’s only about 2/3 chapters left.

 

Alex decided that maybe blindfolds freaked him out. A little. Not enough that he was going to call it quits, but enough that his breathing was shaky. Though it probably wasn’t just the blindfold.

_Nah, maybe it’s also the ball gag and the clamps and all the other shit Elliott has going on right now._

It had started innocently enough. Alex had been up for something, expecting an impromptu fucking or something similar, and instead Elliott had brought out the trunk and the black bag filled with the sex toys Alex had remembered being somewhat interested in. Elliott handed the bag to Alex, a gleam in his eyes, and told Alex to pick three things.

‘Okay, but you’ve gotta turn away while I pick.’

‘I’ll be _using_ them on you. Do you not understand how this works?’

‘You still gotta turn away!’ Alex exclaimed, his cheeks flushed. Elliott stared at him, and then turned around and placed his hands on his hips.

‘My god, it’s like dating a virgin,’ Elliott drawled.

‘Fuck you, it is not. Just because I haven’t fucked four hundred people with the equivalent of a _hardware store_ doesn’t mean I’m a fucking virgin.’

‘Not anymore. My cock’s ensured that your ass is open and ready for business.’

_‘Elliott!’_

Alex glared daggers at the back of Elliott’s head for a few seconds, before rummaging through the bag again.

Elliott had been good about not bringing up the humiliating nightmare, or Alex’s love confession, or really anything at all. But his behaviour had changed. He talked more about staying in Pelican Town. He’d always been physically affectionate, but now he seemed to make a point of being near Alex, whether that was standing right next to him so that their shoulders touched at the library sometimes, or making a point of holding Alex’s hand from time to time, whenever they went somewhere.

It turned out they didn’t need to make an announcement to the town after all, because everyone just kind of picked it up over time, and no one – miraculously – gave Alex a hard time about it. Not to his face, anyway.

So Elliott was good at not bringing up the humiliating emotional shit, but he still apparently gave zero fucks when it came to humiliating Alex over sex and everything else they did.

Begrudgingly, Alex had chosen the horsehair flogger, a simple pair of clamps – he’d thought about the clover clamps but they looked so fucking complicated and he had a feeling that just meant they’d be _more painful_ and decided to pass on those for now – and after hedging over it for several minutes, the ball gag.

Elliott smirked cruelly when he saw everything, and Alex wondered if he should’ve just picked a piece of felt, some lint, and like, a shirt or something. But Elliott would probably find a way to fuck him up with those too.

What Elliott didn’t tell him, was that he was going to be picking two extra things out of his sex trunk. One thing was the blindfold. The other thing – Alex didn’t fucking know, because he was _blindfolded._

Things he learned in short order: Ball gags were way more humiliating than he thought. The ball apparently went _behind_ the teeth, which was weird, and felt way more invasive. He always thought it was something he’d bite into. But no, instead, his mouth was forced open and the stupid ball made it hard to swallow. The ball itself, red and silicone, brought saliva into his mouth just by resting on his tongue. It was hard to resist sucking on it, or wrapping his tongue around it, and it also felt more erotic than he’d thought, like he was kind of giving something a blow job, and kind of not at the same time.

Also he couldn’t _talk._

_Seriously, why didn’t you think of that when you picked it, dumbass?_

Not talking wasn’t terrible, really, and Elliott had given him a signal to make with his hand if he needed things to stop – Alex really hated that part of it, but he knew Elliott needed it for his own peace of mind so whatever – but Elliott _talked._

Alex couldn’t even tell him to shut up. All he could do was groan, or – at best – express some distorted vowels that usually ended with Elliott exclaiming something shitty like:

‘Oh, my petal, are you enjoying things so much? I’ll talk even more then, shall I?’

He was naked. He wasn’t tied up, but he was on his hands and knees on Elliott’s bed, head facing down. Apparently that was a better position for ball gags than lying on his back, and Elliott didn’t want him standing. Alex didn’t know what was worse, the sound of sucking spit back into his mouth around the gag, or just drooling uncontrollably. Somehow, he ended up doing both, which was ridiculous.

‘What a mess you’re making,’ Elliott said warmly. ‘I’m sure you hate it. Do you hate it, Alex? Hm? What about this, then?’

Elliott’s hand trailed up Alex’s side and paused to pull on the silvery chain between the two clamps that’d hurt like hell when Elliott had put them on, and now just kind of hurt in the background, except when Elliott pulled on the goddamn chain. Alex hissed out a sound of protest and flinched his head sideways. He’d learned fast that if he tried to flinch his whole body away, his nipples would blister pain through him. At first, he’d thought he was bleeding, but his panicked sounds – because he couldn’t ask – just seemed to turn Elliott on more.

After a few more gentle tugs on the chain, Alex groaning and shifting from hand to hand, Elliott’s fingers tip-toed up over his shoulder, and then down along his jaw, and then finally rested at his chin, where spit both warm and cold had collected.

‘That’s just disgusting,’ Elliott whispered, and Alex shuddered and his cock twitched. ‘I suppose you can’t look at what you’ve done, so we’ll have to make sure you’re really aware of it, won’t we? Dear, darling petal, I’ll help you.’

Fingers became Elliott’s palm, smearing the saliva up over Alex’s cheeks, his nose, even his neck. It was cold and gross and Alex wished he could fucking _see,_ but he couldn’t stop himself moaning. He hated it. He didn’t know what he’d expected. He felt a little cut loose, like he was just Elliott’s plaything. One more toy dragged out of the sex box, to be quiet and good.

He knew Elliott liked that Alex was drooling, but he also couldn’t stop the hot shameful thrill every time Elliott mocked him for it.

Elliott’s other hand between his back legs, slapping lightly.

‘Spread,’ Elliott said. ‘If you’re not even going to talk to me, you might as well be good for _something.’_

Alex made a sound of frustration, and Elliott patted him on the hip. It was clearly meant to be patronising. Alex wanted to glare, but he couldn’t do anything useful with his eyelashes brushing against the blindfold. It was dark too, he couldn’t see a thing.

Did Elliott know it would freak him out like this? If he couldn’t see, but could talk, that would be different. And if he couldn’t talk, but could _see,_ that would also be different.

But he couldn’t do _either._

Alex’s fingers curled, he contemplated using the signal, even raised his fist to knock somewhere near the headboard, and then was shocked at himself for even thinking about it. He dropped his arm immediately, breathing loudly through the gag and his nose, and then cringed when he felt Elliott’s hand – wet with Alex’s spit – rest on his curled up fingers.

‘Do you need to stop?’ Elliott said.

Alex shook his head.

‘I’m going to ask you some questions. They’ll only need yes or no answers. If you don’t know, you can shrug. Okay?’

Alex nodded. He hated this. Why couldn’t he just suck it up and be fine? Elliott hadn’t even fucking _hurt_ him. They hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. Okay, well, the clamps. But they had faded into the background. That was like when he’d pushed a muscle group too hard and then felt it all the next day. He was so used to tuning that out. He’d thought the clamps would hurt a lot, and they _could,_ but most of the time they just…hung there. The chain was kind of ticklish.

‘Was it that I said you might as well be good for something?’ Elliott said calmly.

Alex shook his head.

‘Is it the ball gag?’

Alex shook his head again. It wasn’t that. Not really.

‘The blindfold?’

Alex forced himself to shrug. Because he didn’t know _exactly_ what it was. Elliott’s fingers squeezed reassuringly, and Alex turned his head towards the gesture, because he didn’t even know where Elliott was exactly, aside from behind him. He couldn’t turn his head to look over his shoulder, it would be useless.

‘This, by the way, is why you need a signal in the first place,’ Elliott said.

 _That_ was fucking annoying, and Alex didn’t stop the sound of sheer rage and frustration that poured out of him. He hadn’t even _used_ the signal! He didn’t fucking _want_ to. Elliott was treating him like he’d used it, and Alex had already changed his damned mind. Alex had never asked for a signal and didn’t need one and he even liked being a little freaked out or panicked sometimes, Elliott had scared the shit out of him before and it’d still been the best sex he’d ever had so really, this was no different.

Elliott was silent for about a minute, and then moved quickly. Two blows at the inside of Alex’s elbows, and his arms buckled and he was pushed down onto his chest. Then Elliott shoved at the tops of Alex’s thighs, forcing him to lie flat on his half-hard cock, his stomach. It was underhanded, given Alex couldn’t see any of what was coming. He couldn’t brace himself for a single thing. But then he was lying down, and Elliott was sitting beside him, one hand knotted up in Alex’s hair, and the other pressing between his shoulder blades.

‘My flower, you’re going to calm down and think for a bit. I know you believe you run the show, but you _don’t._ You’re going to take what I want to give to you, regardless of what you _think_ you can handle. That might be too much, or it might be too little, but the most important thing is that you don’t get to decide that, whether you shout at me or think you shouldn’t have a safeword or throw your little tantrums like a four year old. If I want you to drool on my bed, you’re going to, and if I want to check that you’re okay while doing that, you’re going to let me. Understand?’

It wasn’t the lilting, playful Elliott he was used to. It wasn’t even teasing, sadistic Elliott. This was darker and harder, flatter, and somehow just as hot as everything else. His head was tipped forward and he was just drooling like crazy now. He didn’t even bother trying to swallow.

The hand at his shoulder blades began rubbing firmly, and every now and then Elliott pressed down hard enough that Alex’s chest ground into the sheets and his nipples flared into life as the clamps shifted. He twitched every time it happened, and he was pretty sure Elliott wasn’t doing it accidentally.

‘Alex, if you understand, you need to nod,’ Elliott said. ‘Otherwise I will happily tell you how much I don’t give a _shit_ about how you think this should go for several hours, and that will be how this scene ends.’

Alex nodded quickly, shuddering.

Elliott leaned down until his voice poured over the back of Alex’s head and slid down around him.

‘I know you don’t like the blindfold, my flower,’ Elliott said. ‘I felt it in the way your breathing changed when I put it on. Does it make it easier, knowing that I like seeing the way your skin shivers on occasion, because you have no idea what’s coming? This alone is enough to mess with you, isn’t it? What I need to know is if it’s messing with you _too much._ Do you need me to take it off? I will happily torment you without.’

Alex heaved for breath. He had no idea that Elliott had noticed how much it freaked him out, or that Elliott liked it and _wanted_ that. He remembered Elliott saying that he wanted to push Alex more, and Alex felt his muscles unlocking with a bizarre relief. There was fear beneath it, but it was less on the surface now. It was so much easier to deal with something when it was what Elliott wanted.

‘Do you need me to take it off?’ Elliott said again.

Alex slowly shook his head.

‘Wonderful. Now, I’m going to say something, and you’d best believe I mean it. If you need that blindfold off – you _will_ use the signal. You will swallow your pride and use it, because I’d like to trust you in the future. Cherish the thread of control that I let you have, because I want _everything else.’_

The hand rubbing at his back dug in, and then became lines of stinging fire as Elliott dragged his nails down possessively. Alex’s back arched, he whined, his eyes squeezed shut. This Elliott, who didn’t speak playfully, but with an intent to own, was stupid hot and kind of freaky. Alex briefly thought about humping the bed until he came, but decided to wait for whatever Elliott had planned.

‘Back up onto your hands and knees,’ Elliott said, staying seated at the side of the bed. Alex pushed himself back up and kept his head hanging low, feeling weak and wrung out already. The chain between the nipple clamps swung a little, but didn’t hurt all that much more than Elliott pushing him into the mattress had. Maybe it was weak or stupid, but he was pretty sure Elliott could just fit him with a ball gag and a blindfold for five minutes, and Alex would feel like he’d run a marathon.

Instead of moving behind him again, Elliott stood and kept one hand at the small of Alex’s back, while reaching around for something else. Then, Alex felt the softness of the horsehair flogger being coiled up – hairs first – until it rested on Alex’s shoulders. Elliott reached for something else, and Alex tensed when he felt something round, circular, resting against his ass.

Not wood, but kind of nubby and grabby, so maybe rubber. The rubber paddle? The thing that looked like a demented table tennis bat? His breathing quickened. He was pretty sure it would _hurt._

Elliott rubbed it over him. First over his ass, generously, but then also over his hips, the backs of his thighs. It slipped between his legs and tapped lightly, getting Alex to spread them again, and then the rim of it rubbed over Alex’s balls, making him squirm, because nope, just… _no._ He didn’t want to even _think_ about it. Elliott laughed quietly, and moved the paddle so that it touched Alex’s cock, the rubber dragging at his sticky skin.

Alex squirmed a bit more. Shifted on his hands like he could inch away. Elliott might be terrible when he talked all the time, but he could be fucking terrifying when he didn’t talk _at all._

He swum in the blackness of the blindfold, bit down absently on the gag, his jaw aching. He grabbed at the sheet, plucking at it, even as Elliott dragged the paddle upwards and knocked at one of the clamps. He might have done it feather-soft, but Alex knew nothing would ever be gentle enough to not feel like fire. He cried out, breathing quickly through his nose, even as Elliott kept up the tapping. Alex could hear the dull sound it made.

He whimpered, at first like he could get Elliott to stop if he just made a deliberately pitiful enough sound, and then he whimpered because Elliott _wasn’t_ stopping and it was just getting worse.

‘Oh, but you are delectable,’ Elliott said quietly, his voice musical, but carrying that softness that filled Alex with dread. That wasn’t a comforting voice. ‘I could watch you take this all day. I think I _will,_ one day. But I’m not about the path well-travelled. Nor are you, I suspect. I think you’re going to hate me with good reason, in a minute.’

The hand holding the paddle shifted quickly. Two fingers came up and plucked the clamp free, the teeth dragging meanly at the skin. Alex opened his mouth to breathe harder as the pain got worse, and then the paddle slapped sharply over the bared, bruised nipple.

There was no word for the sound Alex made next. He didn’t even know he was going to collapse to his side, curling over himself and the paddle both, falling on the horsehair flogger that had slid off his shoulders, until he did it. Saliva went down the wrong way, and even as he began to gag, Elliott was hauling him back onto his hands and knees, telling him to breathe and laughing. Fucking _laughing._

Alex said ‘fuck you’ about as many times as he could between the awkward coughing and the blazing pain and the saliva that fell in strings on either side of the silicone ball. Then his fractured, unintelligible voice broke off when Elliott simply shifted and slapped his nipple again, lightly, playfully, enough to send a wretched sting all the way through him.

‘Hate me yet?’ Elliott said impishly.

Alex could only nod his head vigorously, his eyes burning. That had been underhanded as fuck. 

‘It’s different when you can’t talk back,’ Elliott said, moving the rubber paddle back to Alex’s ass, where it was almost a relief to feel it rubbing there instead of anywhere more sensitive. ‘I have to imagine all the ways you’d be running that delightful tongue of yours. Have to imagine the swear words, and the way you’d be insulting me and my heritage and likely my ancestors if you could. I get to imagine the sting in your words, but I also get to pretend that you’d tell me how much you _love_ it. ‘Oh, Elliott. Hit me _again.’’_

The paddle moved away and thudded hard into him, Elliott keeping it against the curve of his ass like he could drive it through his body. A thud of pain, and Alex grunted at the shock of it, then a flare of prickly sting that raced across him, like having cold water dumped through his body. The paddle went back to rubbing, and Alex plucked at the sheet again nervously, because this wasn’t the rough and speedy shock of when Elliott had spanked him a while back. This was slow and methodical and Alex still couldn’t _see,_ and he knew for damn sure he wouldn’t be saying whatever Elliott wasn’t imagining, unless it had like a hundred curse words in it.

‘Why _yes_ , Alex,’ Elliott purred. ‘What a brilliant suggestion. I think I _will_ keep going. You ask so sweetly.’

Alex decided he hated Elliott putting words in his mouth, and he hated it even more when Elliott unleashed five sharp strikes. These ones seemed lighter than the first, but the sting was worse, more immediate, and Alex was trying to remember how to breathe around the gag, rocking forwards away from the paddle, strangling out a noise in his throat.

‘Really? You love it so much?’

The sound Alex made would have convinced an inanimate object that he _didn’t,_ but instead Elliott only said:

‘Oh, now, I don’t know, Alex. I’m not sure it’s safe to bruise you _that_ much. But I do so love to please? The things you ask for. I suppose I’d best please you.’

Alex’s indignant ‘what the fuck?’ noise drowned out between heavy, thudding slaps that sounded huge in the cottage. He went down to his elbows as the sting went from something temporary, to a tattoo across both ass cheeks. He wasn’t counting, and Elliott wasn’t doing anything rhythmic. Some slaps fell close together, others were spaced apart, sometimes it was five in a row on the same spot on the same ass cheek, and sometimes they were alternated. Eventually, Alex’s breathing wheezing out of him, he tried to tip away from what Elliott was doing, and the hand that had been steadying at his lower back moved quickly. It didn’t grab him by the hip, like Alex expected, but instead snuck beneath and grasped his cock hard around the base, like a handle.

_That’s not a fucking handle!_

It definitely stopped him from twisting away. It also reminded him that he was hard. It hurt like hell, and he was hard. Elliott didn’t stop. It was like he had springs in his shoulder or wrist or something.

Choking breaths, a brief gag as Alex couldn’t work out what to do with all his spit, and then heavy, pained exhales as Elliott stopped and rubbed overheated, swollen skin.

‘On your hands,’ Elliott said. ‘Make a prettier picture, Alex. I know you’re stronger than this.’

Cheeks flaming, he shakily pushed himself up again, and then nearly buckled right back down to his elbows when Elliott’s clever fingers started moving on his cock. The rhythm was slow, as uneven as the strikes with the paddle had been, but it was so good.

‘Of course I’m not done yet,’ Elliott said soothingly, like he was in the middle of a conversation with some other Alex, who was apparently a total _idiot._ ‘Don’t worry, my flower, of course I’m not stopping there.’

Alex growled, and he knew Elliott understood just how mad Alex was at this whole ‘I’m going to pretend you’re saying shit that you’d _never say in a million years’_ shtick. He knew, because Elliott laughed like a demented, happy child, and _kept doing it._

‘I know,’ Elliott said. ‘I really am that perfect and that beautiful. You don’t have to tell me how exquisite I am, but I do like to hear the flattery.’

Justifiable homicide was whatever was going to happen when Alex had finally come and this scene was over. Maybe he’d tell Elliott that he looked super exquisite while being strangled to death.

‘You’re still making such a mess,’ Elliott said, moving the hand from Alex’s cock to his mouth and smearing spit everywhere again. It had already dried tacky on Alex’s face from the first time. He tried to move his face away, but Elliott followed, and Alex could even smell himself – his own fucking dick – on Elliott’s hand. ‘You’re like a recalcitrant dog. Look at you. Has no one trained you yet? How are you drooling so much? It’s like living with a St. Bernard.’

It was weird, being mocked for something like it was his fault, when it wasn’t his fault at all. Alex felt guilty and ashamed and outraged and indignant all at the same time. He wanted to defend himself. Wanted to point out that Elliott had said clearly at the beginning as he’d buckled the gag into place, that it made a person drool, and that he should just let it happen rather than worrying about swallowing too much. He wanted to bite Elliott’s hand hard enough to leave dents and make it bruise. He wanted to cry – maybe just a little – at the feeling of his spit all over his face. It made him shiver all over, and when his ass cheeks tensed, he ducked his head at the flash of bruising pain that he couldn’t completely forget about.

He was already exhausted. This was insane. Elliott was like a gym session, except Alex didn’t get to choose what muscles he worked out.

The hand that had smeared his face and made Alex feel sticky moved to his ass instead, and Alex held his breath when he felt a fingertip slip into him.

‘Really, I’d prefer lubricant,’ Elliott said sweetly, ‘but since you asked so nicely…’

The finger slid deep, began to move. There was enough spit that the friction wasn’t too bad, but it was still there. After a few minutes – Elliott avoiding Alex’s prostate, and Alex starting to think that he could definitely feel overstimulated from the bland thrusting of one mostly-dry finger, Elliott said:

‘I _completely_ agree, yes! That’s a _wonderful_ idea. Your ass really _isn’t_ warm enough for this. I’m so sorry. How neglectful of me. You’re right of course, you really should be in charge of these scenes.’

The finger didn’t even move when Elliott started paddling him again, and Alex shouted as the pain was so much _larger_ now that Elliott had given him that long break in between everything. The sting was something that scoured him out from the inside, he could feel his hole clenching on Elliott’s finger, and now Elliott sometimes spanked the parts of his skin just beneath the curve of his ass, on his upper thigh, and that wasn’t even something he could wrap his mind around. His voice broke.

He shifted his weight to get an arm free, reached blindly sideways and struck Elliott hard, shoving him in the hip.

‘What?’ Elliott said, moving back into position and hitting Alex even harder. Alex inhaled deeply and then whined in despair. ‘What, Alex? Are you trying to tell me something? What do you think will happen if you hit me? That I’ll stop and coo and tell you that you’re perfect for trying to take control of what I’m doing to you? Or do you think that I might just be vindictive enough to make sure you aren’t strong enough or aware enough to _dare to do it again?’_

Alex’s eyes rolled back in his head as Elliott went to town, the sound of the strikes actually fading beneath the sensory overload of the pain. Then Elliott began to fuck into him with rough stabs of his finger, and Alex’s elbows went, his chin knocking clumsily into the mattress, Elliott’s finger slipping free of his ass.

‘Get up,’ Elliott snapped. ‘You literally have _one_ thing to do, which is hold position.’

A muffled sound of anguish, and Alex thought Elliott would stop long enough for him to move back up to his hands, his aching wrists, but he didn’t stop at all. Instead, moved down to the upper thighs again, struck him harder, and that was kind of motivational, but it was also fucking awful. Alex was sobbing by the time he got back up and locked his elbows into place. Even the sobs sounded messy and humiliating, muffled around the ball gag.

Several more strikes that made Alex’s vision turn from black into blazes of colour, and then Elliott’s hand was there instead, rubbing over sore, throbbing skin.

‘Look how beautiful you are,’ Elliott breathed. ‘Taking all this for me. Even with your tantrums, look at what you bear for me. Aren’t you lovely?’

Alex didn’t feel lovely at all, but the words undid him, wrapped around him, made him feel like he wasn’t a mess of conflicting signals and pain and the sensation of his cock still twitching even as tears soaked into the blindfold.

‘Are you going to answer me?’ Elliott said. ‘You’re lovely, aren’t you? Nod your head, my rose, you can do it.’

Nope. Alex couldn’t do that. Eventually, he had to shake his head, because he didn’t want to lie, and he didn’t know if this was a trick, and he didn’t want to be lovely.

‘No?’ Elliott said, reaching underneath Alex’s body and grabbing something.

The fall of something soft over his sweaty back, and it was the horsehair flogger, trailing down across his sensitised skin and then falling in a wave over his ass. Elliott dragged it back and forth, and Alex’s breathing didn’t settle at all, like this was somehow turning a dial inside of him, winding the tension even tighter. It was gentle and sweet and it felt like torture.

Alex shook his head again, at the horsehair flogger, at whatever Elliott was asking of him.

‘My lovely, precious rose,’ Elliott said. Alex whined, not liking it, not knowing what to do with the sincerity or the way his skin broadcast those soft, horsehair touches. They fell everywhere. Over his upper arms and his shoulders, in stripes and lines across his back, between his ass cheeks, over the backs of his thighs.

‘Since I’m feeling generous,’ Elliott said, ‘I’m going to give you two choices. The first is that I’ll stop now, and soothe and cherish you as you deserve to be cherished, but I won’t fuck you, and you don’t get to come. The second is that I’ll paddle you again, and you will hate it, but after I’m going to fuck you into the mattress, and you might even hate that too, but you’ll get to come. Of course I’ll soothe you and cherish you after that too. Really, this is about how much you’re craving me in you, how much you want to spill.’

Alex hated both options. He wanted things to stop now. That would be great. But god, he wanted to come so badly. Even as he wailed or cried out or groaned or whimpered through the paddle strikes, they all seemed to centre somewhere in his cock, in the base of his spine, like the world’s weirdest jerking off ever. But he didn’t think he could take much more of being hit, and he didn’t think he could handle Elliott’s cock either. Elliott was huge and hard to take on a good day, when Alex’s ass wasn’t raw and he wasn’t all overloaded and shit.

‘Option one, yes or no?’

Alex paused, and then shook his head.

‘Option two?’

Alex almost considered shaking his head again, wondering if that would force Elliott to consider a third option. Why did he crave this so much? As he hesitantly nodded his head once, he wished he knew what it was. Did he want to experience things he hated? Did he like that Elliott basically destroyed him when they did this, and then held the broken pieces of him afterwards, until he put himself back together? Whatever it was, Elliott briefly, reassuringly touched the back of Alex’s head, and then he reached to pick the paddle up again and Alex was pretty sure Elliott knew how much Alex would hate _both_ options.

There was a swoop of something dark and dreadful when Alex felt the paddle rest carefully against the blazing skin of his ass. It paralysed him for a few seconds, when he realised exactly what option he’d chosen, and how much he couldn’t handle it. He’d gone from angry at himself and confused and wanting, to something icy and closed off so quickly that he could still feel the echo of some unknown door slamming shut inside of him.

He’d made the wrong choice, and he was going to end up somewhere he couldn’t get back from because of it.

His eyes flew open behind the blindfold, and – even as he hissed in a kind of blind terror when he felt the paddle swing away from his skin – he reached up and banged hard against the headboard, falling towards it. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t._ He just- _He just-_

‘It’s okay,’ Elliott said, the words only just sinking in as Alex felt fingers on the buckle of the gag at the back of his head. ‘It’s okay. That was perfect. I’m stopping now. For a little while or for the day, it doesn’t matter. Let’s get this off you, yes? Take some deeper breaths now, you can do it.’

Alex was distraught. He hated everything about having a signal to get out of it, _loathed_ it even, and yet he’d used it, and he hated himself for it too. He was hard, he wanted to come and he’d bailed out of the thing that would give him that, but he was also scared and clinging to the edge of something frantic. If Elliott hadn’t been there beside him, he might have just balled up and started crying because he hated himself so much. He wasn’t supposed to use the stupid signal. Ever. He was _stronger_ than that. It would’ve been a few more hits and then it would’ve been good and he _ruined_ it.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ Elliott breathed, even as he levered the ball gag from Alex’s mouth carefully, unintimidated by all that spit and wetness, just deftly moving his fingers around between Alex’s teeth, until the gag dropped on the bed. Alex’s mouth stayed open, and he winced a little when he felt fingers at his jaw. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d been expecting, but Elliott still massaged the joints, slowly increasing pressure until he seemed satisfied.

‘This will hurt,’ Elliott cautioned, plucking the other clamp free – Alex had forgotten all about it – and then rubbing quickly over the skin, in a way that wasn’t sexual at all, but was about diffusing that burst of bright, unhappy pain. Alex swallowed the sound that leapt out of his throat, and Elliott hushed him anyway.

The blindfold was removed next, and it took Alex a long moment of confusion to realise that’s all there was. He wasn’t actually in rope or duct tape. He wasn’t handcuffed to anything. He looked down at the wet patches on the sheet in front of him in confusion.

Elliott had used hardly anything.

Still, he went down to his elbows, and then moved forward so that he could lay flat on his belly, not caring that he was in like five different wet spots, or that his face was still a mess, or that his eyes were wet. Or at least, not caring that he didn’t like it.

They’d used things from the trunk that he’d _wanted_ to use, and he couldn’t even last through that.

He was so mad with himself. God, it would’ve been what, another five minutes? Then, because he had no idea what to do with the spite and bitterness he was feeling, he said:

‘Fuck you, Elliott.’

His voice broken, his mouth moving a bit woodenly, but he still got the words out. He was surprised when that was answered by a hand moving through his hair, ruffling the sweaty strands.

‘I know,’ Elliott said quietly. ‘I’m terribly unfair, pushing you into that.’

A pause while Alex tried to work that out, and then he turned his head to the side and looked up at Elliott, eyebrows knitted up, trying to find the words for what he needed to say next.

‘You…wanted me to?’

‘I thought there was a reasonable chance you would safeword,’ Elliott said. ‘Then I decided that I’d really rather not spend the next few months worried that you’d just _refuse_ to use it, so I pushed to see what you’d do. I was prepared to stop without it.’

‘Fuck you,’ Alex said tiredly, closing his eyes. ‘I could’ve handled it.’

Except that maybe he couldn’t, and he hated every inch of himself for feeling like he wasn’t strong at all, had never been strong.

‘I know you could,’ Elliott said, like he’d always known, and Alex glared at him, because he didn’t need that false reassurance. Alex knew what a weakling he was. He _knew._ Elliott’s eyes narrowed at whatever he saw on Alex’s face. ‘For the record, I know I don’t swear at you terribly often, but fuck your machismo and how knotted up in it you are. Did you use the safeword because you genuinely couldn’t weather more pain? Or because the cost was too high? Because you decided it wasn’t worth it?’

‘I don’t get to decide that,’ Alex said.

‘You have the safeword so that you _can_ decide that.’

‘I don’t _want_ to decide it!’ Alex shouted at him, and then curled up on his side and yanked at Elliott’s blankets that had been pushed to the side of the bed, until he could cover his whole body and head with them. He was definitely throwing a tantrum. He didn’t even care.

The muffled sounds of Elliott taking off his shoes and jeans – because the fucker hadn’t even taken them off – and then Elliott was forcibly pulling up the blankets and curling up under them with Alex. He didn’t seem to care about the wet spots either.

‘Fuck off,’ Alex snapped. ‘You should never have given it to me. Now you get to see how much of a coward I am. Are you happy? Huh? That’s _your_ fault. _You_ gave that to me.’

‘Poor Alex,’ Elliott soothed, taking Alex’s arm and pulling him closer. Alex hissed as the sheets scraped against the edges of the bruising on his ass. God his skin felt raw. ‘My beautiful, beautiful rose.’

‘No,’ Alex said, pushing weakly at him. ‘Shut up.’

‘My confused, fragile flower.’

 _No one_ called him fragile. Alex was so hung up on outrage that someone would dare, that he missed the way Elliott was practically an octopus, the way he was insinuating his limbs around Alex. One thick thigh slid between his legs, and Alex whimpered. He was so hard, it was so unfair, the way it felt when his dick brushed against Elliott’s thigh.  

‘Hungry flower,’ Elliott said warmly, his hand dropping down to brush over Alex’s cock.

‘I just…’ Alex began, and then shook his head. ‘I just wanted- I ruined it.’

‘There’s different types of strength, petal,’ Elliott said, kissing Alex’s forehead. It was almost completely dark beneath the blankets. They were thick, and there was at least three, and it had only been dim lighting in the room around them. ‘You were perfect, using that signal. So perfect. How lucky I am. How sore you must be. Did you think I held back? You should see yourself. Are you imagining that everyone in the city could take so much _more_ than you could? Perhaps if the skin of their ass had turned to leather – and that can happen sometimes. But yours… Alex, you took _a lot._ And so, so _well._ Darling, if you knew how pleased I am. It’s going to hurt to sit tomorrow. And the next day. You are going to be _very_ sore. _’_

Angry, vicious words were choking off in Alex’s mouth, and then he was swallowing them down, enjoying the novelty of being able to swallow easily without having to think about the angle of his throat or what the ball gag was doing. Elliott had a way of talking that seemed like it might be fake, except that the tone and sincerity behind every word made it raw and pure.

But Alex still felt jilted, felt imbalanced and unsatisfied and empty.

‘I wanted to come,’ Alex said. He thought he should laugh at himself now, to make it sound like he knew how stupid it was. Instead it hung plaintive and wanting between them.

‘You will,’ Elliott said, brushing his hand over Alex’s cock again.

‘But you said- The two choices… Elliott, I _can’t,_ and-’

‘We’re recalibrating,’ Elliott said, pressing his thumb to the base of Alex’s cock and massaging slowly and firmly, humming in pleasure as Alex’s head tilted back weakly. ‘I can change the choices whenever I wish. Isn’t that fun? I didn’t carve them in stone, my flower. Someone who safewords to protect themselves deserves to feel good, don’t they? Isn’t that what you want?’

‘How is that fair? Changing the rules like that?’

‘I _do_ apologise, I wasn’t aware that you wanted a fair and just lover. Shall I just go back to sticking to those arbitrary rules? Shall I tell you that you _don’t_ get to come? Let’s do it your way. You do so enjoy feeling miserable.’

There was really nothing to say to that. Alex was pretty sure he’d just lost an argument. It wasn’t even an argument that he really wanted to win, in retrospect.

The arm slung around his back drifted down, and Alex tensed when he felt fingertips brush over his ass, drawing attention to heat and throbbing and fire. Alex ducked his face towards the bed and shivered, a part of him thinking that he could come just from this. Just from having Elliott’s thigh between his legs and up against his balls, and that touch wandering over his bruised skin.

‘Some more choices,’ Elliott said, his voice not as even as before. ‘I can give you a handjob, we’ll call it a day. It doesn’t bother me, I’ll happily wank right beside you if you want, and you can fall asleep to the sound of me having a wonderful time. Or perhaps instead of paddling you, I can slide my cock into this delicious heat and make a mess of you, and you’ll get to come that way.’

Fingers turning into fingertips, scraping across swollen skin, and Alex cried out, and then moaned immediately afterwards. Damn it. _Damn it._

 _‘Fuck,_ Elliott.’

‘I know,’ Elliott said, his voice lower than before. ‘Delicious either way, isn’t it? See? We’d never have gotten to recalibrate like this if you hadn’t used the signal. Are you going to tell me to fuck off again? Or are you going to decide how you want to come?’

‘Just fuck me,’ Alex whispered, pushing back into Elliott’s hand, writhing against Elliott’s thigh.

‘Well, if you insist,’ Elliott said, moving lazily, slowly, getting the lubricant and then moving Alex so that he was lying on his side under the blankets, facing out into the room, and Elliott was behind him, slicked cock sliding between his ass cheeks. When Elliott grabbed a handful of his ass and pulled outwards to make room for himself, Alex choked and pressed his face into the mattress, because it really hurt, more than he’d expected.

‘Sore?’ Elliott said lightly.

Alex nodded.

‘ _Good,’_ Elliott bit out, and Alex shuddered to hear how much it pleased him, how vicious he could sound in amongst the softness and the care. He cried out as Elliott squeezed even harder, and then moaned a long, tired, pained exhale when Elliott pushed the head of his cock into him and kept pushing, not caring that the only preparation Alex had earlier was one callous finger, and that was it. ‘Let me in, Alex. Come on, now. You’re so warm. It’s like you were made for me.’

Normally Alex would care a whole lot more about the bullshit Elliott was saying, but Elliott was leaning forwards and insistently humping his way in whenever he met resistance, until he was pressed so deep and his cooler pelvis brushed against Alex’s skin. Alex tried to ease away, just a tiny amount of space, just enough to protect his ass, and Elliott sighed happily and leaned forward even more, until Alex couldn’t get any leverage and couldn’t avoid the pain of it, how full he was, how that dark pleasure pulsed up the back of his spine and made his cock feel heavy and sore all at once.

‘Let’s just leave it like that,’ Elliott said. ‘Just for a few minutes. You can warm me up, and I can take care of you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Elliott taking care of him meant a few half-hearted tugs at Alex’s cock, that had Alex clenching around Elliott and whimpering because it didn’t help him adjust _at all_ , and then dragging his mean fingers up to Alex’s nipples and worrying at the sore skin. So maybe Elliott felt relaxed, but Alex tensed and shivered and dragged his clawed hand down the sheet and shocked himself when he rocked back into Elliott’s cock, his pelvis, even as the scrape of sore skin made him wince.

 _‘Hurts,’_ Alex muttered. ‘Fuck.’

‘God, if I could have you like this every day,’ Elliott said, before grabbing Alex’s hip and holding him still, grinding deeply, making Alex feel like his insides were being churned. Alex went from wanting to come, to being pretty sure that he was going to come _soon._ It was dizzying, his back arched.

‘M’ _close.’_

‘I should hope so.’

It was super annoying how sure of himself Elliott sounded sometimes. Like, maybe in some other universe Alex _wasn’t_ close, and Elliott just sounded like a smug, stupid prick, instead of a smug, accurate one.

Elliott hardly moved. He’d grind in sometimes, but just as often he kept his cock still and relentlessly present, as he’d use his hand to pinch Alex’s nipples, or play with his cock, or inevitably, scrape and squeeze at his ass, even daring to laugh when Alex tried to wriggle away and couldn’t really do anything except take it.

Everything Elliott did spun him closer to coming. Alex shook, his senses overloaded, feeling like he’d been hovering near orgasm for ages, his mind going blank and his body heating up beneath the blankets, the warmth from his ass radiating outwards.

He came hard on the back of Elliott grinding into him again, his hand on Alex’s cock, lazily moving, the slowness and stillness not matching the force that thundered through Alex’s body, or the way his head snapped back into Elliott’s shoulder, his breathing hoarse. Elliott squeezed Alex’s cock from the base up in clear, milking motions, like he wanted everything, and he kept doing it past the point of Alex’s release, through the aftershocks, and continued until Alex jack-knifed forwards around the sharp ache that stirred in his gut. His hand curled around Elliott’s, tried to pull him free, and Elliott only hummed in that pleased way again, and kept doing it.

‘Wait, wait, _wait, I’m done!’_

‘I know,’ Elliott said lazily. ‘I’m just being very, _very_ thorough.’

Alex keened weakly, and he was just starting to contemplate whether punching Elliott in the face three times would count as signalling again, when Elliott finally, _finally_ fucking stopped. He moved his hand away from Alex’s cock, and then he shifted, rolling Alex fully onto his stomach, his cock buried so deep that Alex was finding it hard to breathe properly.

‘Bear with me,’ Elliott said, and then he laughed. ‘The things I make myself wait for.’

Alex shouted as Elliott fucked him. This wasn’t lazy or sweet or slow, but full, muscular blows that had Elliott’s hips slapping hard against Alex’s ass. The pain wasn’t balanced by enough pleasure, and the aftershocks of his orgasm had been fully milked out of him by Elliott, and so they didn’t help either. But just as Alex thought that maybe he _would_ have to use the safeword again – like that wouldn’t be the icing on the fucking cake – Elliott collapsed over him – not like he was light as a feather or anything – and Alex cried out when he realised that Elliott was coming inside of him.

It was worth it. For the hands that came and stroked over the side of his face and his hair. For the way Elliott breathed roughly, finally undone, after all that stupid self-control. It was worth it for the feeling of shared warmth and the way Alex’s mind had finally run down. After the arguing and the swearing and everything else, even after the worst of the pain, something went quiet and still inside of him. He leaned his head back against Elliott’s and liked the way it felt, Elliott breathing on top of him.

‘You’re heavy,’ Alex said.

‘Why spend all that time in the gym or doing all that exercise, if I can’t lie on top of you for five minutes, my petal?’

‘Yeah, I don’t do that for _this,’_ Alex said.

‘Then consider it a fringe benefit.’

Alex laughed, the sound crushed out of him, and Elliott joined him.

*

Alex was almost comatose about an hour later. After Elliott had looked after him. There’d been a hot, blissful facecloth, cleaning up his face and neck, paying attention to the dry spots at the corners of his mouth and eyes. There’d been lotion and painkillers and Elliott insisting that Alex attempt to sit up to drink some water. There’d been Elliott coaxing Alex to different corners of the bed, while he stripped the sheets and replaced them with dry ones, occasionally pausing to brush his hand over Alex’s lotion-tacky ass which _burned_ but also felt possessive and like Alex had somehow pleased him. Then Elliott had cleaned Alex’s cock, balls, and ass, and Alex thought it was kind of weird, but he kind of loved it.

Elliott checked over the hand Alex had used to bang on the headboard, even though it didn’t hurt.

‘I submitted some poetry to an anthology, and a couple of competitions,’ Elliott said, his voice softened with sleepiness.

‘That means I can read it, if you’re letting other people read it.’

‘I suppose it does.’

‘Why don’t you want me to?’

‘Well, my darling, a lot of it’s about you,’ Elliott said simply.

‘You…’ Alex yawned hugely, about three breaths away from sleeping. ‘You and your fucking sex poetry.’

‘A lot of it’s not sex poetry.’

Alex didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe Elliott vented all the issues he had into the poems or something. Whatever. Alex still wanted to read them. He also didn’t care enough to actually give a shit now. He was too tired.

‘In fact some of it’s really very romantic and saccharine,’ Elliott whispered. ‘It’s not really like anything I’ve ever written before.’

‘Mmhm,’ Alex managed, leaning into Elliott’s chest and trying to remember the meaning of saccharine, falling asleep somewhere around the thought that maybe it had something to do with sugar.

*

The next morning, Alex sat at Elliott’s writing desk, in front of the typewriter, and held five pages of white, thin paper in his hands.

Elliott _hovered._

‘You shouldn’t even be sitting,’ Elliott said.

‘Shut up. I’ve had worse gym sessions.’

‘Well!’ Elliott said, offended. ‘Perhaps it’s time for me to join you at the gym, if that’s what you think of my forehand action.’

It hurt like all get out, actually, but Alex wasn’t going to say anything about that, because he also sort of liked it and he didn’t want to give Elliott the satisfaction. The pain made it so that he could only concentrate on about two things at a time. Which in this case, was the pain and the poetry. Everything else drowned out, except for how Elliott hulked over him like a velvet-clad vulture with very pretty hair.

Alex didn’t know the rules of poetry. All he’d known when he forced himself to sit down and not hiss and squeak through the pain that flared in his ass, was that he’d say it was amazing, no matter how it read, even if he thought it was the gayest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on. He wasn’t going to complain about getting a headache, even though the lack of chunky paragraphs meant that it actually wasn’t all that hard to read. Dense writing and small shitty fonts were way worse than the open lines, the generous spacing.

Then, he’d read one of the poems, and felt his heart beating in his chest like an animal that wanted to get out.

 _I am predator-prey, let me wrench your wrist to the wall_  
_and push up – just there – run hands across planes_  
_and shudder-sigh, once, broken; I haven’t so much hurt you_  
_as…_

The rest of the poem unfolded, and Alex’s eyes ate the whole thing up and he realised he was still hungry, and moved the first page to the bottom, so he could keep reading.

 _That I would cling to you like wild wisteria,_  
_tumble my purple blossoms about your arms,_  
_wreath my gloss-green leaves about your musk-scent._  
  
_…Instead, a slug in the core of you_  
_to eat your new growth._  
  
_Sleep in the very heart of your deep secrets,_  
_to eat them too._

 _No. A thorn-crowned starfish, to crucify the reef of your lips,_  
_rend your wonders barren._

Alex thought his breathing might be shaky as he read the rest of the poem, its tangled conclusion, and he glanced quickly at Elliott, before moving that page to the bottom and reading the next. A twinge behind his eyes, but so faint it was like an echo of everything else that had happened the night before.

Then, the poem after that, the second last, and it was only five lines long. Its only title a date. Alex knew they hadn’t seen each other that day, and yet…

 _Under the moon’s glow_  
_by the lazy willow’s wave_  
_we sit side by side._  
_I would crawl deep into you,_  
_a pearly snail coming home._

The last was longer, and Alex vaguely wondered if he was reading them too fast, if he should be savouring them more, but he also felt apprehensive and strange and numb and fluttery. There, on the last page, he caught the lines:

 _That night, the storm that scoured the sand and sea,_  
_but left you like driftwood in my tired arms,_  
_that I might find the shape of you,_  
_that you might seek the same of me._

What was he supposed to say?

What the fuck was he supposed to say?

‘These are all about me?’ he managed, his voice a little higher than usual. He cleared his throat and looked through them all again, and then looked at the other sheets of paper, face down on the desk. ‘Those too?’

‘Not all of those,’ Elliott said. ‘Perhaps more than I’m entirely comfortable with.’

‘You write really well,’ Alex said, knowing that he was mangling it, fucking it up. How could he say what he was feeling? How could he say that he was going to take those words with him, wherever he went, forever? Like the shit his Dad said to him, or the things his Mom had whispered to him when it was just the two of them in their bubble of bruises, solidarity and love?

‘You don’t have to say that.’

Proof, really, that Alex was fucking this up.

‘I want copies,’ Alex said. ‘Can we get copies? Are these the ones you sent to competitions and shit?’

A long pause, and Alex made himself look up, feeling weirdly nervous. But he also just kind of wanted to take all the pages and run out of Elliott’s house and sprint back to his room and lock them away somewhere, because shit, he’d been seeing scrunched up pages in Elliott’s trash for _ages_ and if any of it was like _this…_

Elliott stared at him.

‘I have to have these,’ Alex said stubbornly.

Elliott said nothing at all.

It was such a rare thing, for Elliott to be completely speechless, that it took a while for Alex to even work it out. Had he really thought that Alex wouldn’t like them? And why would that _matter?_ Alex didn’t know anything about this stuff. He didn’t know what made the words sound good, and he didn’t know why he liked it so much. He just knew that he needed them, and he was probably going to have to have another stupid fight with Elliott, if he said no.

‘It’s all really intense,’ Alex added. ‘You’re just staring at me.’

‘I apologise,’ Elliott said automatically, like Alex had pressed a button and made the words fall out. Elliott went right back to staring at him, and okay, maybe Alex had freaked him out or something.

‘I feel like I should be giving you a different kind of reaction?’ Alex said then, holding the pages closer to himself, in case saying the wrong thing would somehow inspire Elliott to take them away. After Elliott being so cagey about his writing – and fucking hell, _why?_ – Alex expected anything at this point. ‘Look, I can’t- I don’t know the things you know. I can’t gush about them like, I dunno, people probably did when you were at university. I’m not- I can’t give you what you want.’

‘Is that what you think?’

‘You’re just fucking _staring at me!’_ Alex made himself look away. He cleared his throat. He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head. He kind of wanted to stand, but weirdly, now that he’d been sitting for a while, he sort of dreaded the pain of standing more.

‘It matters,’ Elliott said quietly, ‘what you think.’

‘It shouldn’t. I don’t know anything about this stuff.’

‘But you like them?’

‘I really-’ _like them._ ‘I… I kind of love them.’

‘I can make you copies,’ Elliott said. ‘I can type them up now, if you want.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said. ‘Okay, yeah. That’s… Please. That’d be great. I’m gonna go lie face down on your bed now. Because my everything hurts.’

It was hard though, once he stood, to hand the pages back to Elliott. He didn’t let them go straight away, but stared at Elliott like he could make him _know_ that he had to stop throwing his writing out. That was maybe stupid, but what if there had been things like that, just gone now? Just recycled and turned into toilet paper or something?

‘Thanks,’ Alex said awkwardly, finally letting go.

As he made his way over to the bed, listening to Elliott pull out the chair and then sit down, slipping paper into the typewriter, he realised that when he’d fallen in love with Elliott, he hadn’t expected that it was possible to fall in love with him _more._

That didn’t seem fair. It was a hushed, bright ache in his chest as he lay down. He listened to the wind and the waves, and thought about Elliott’s fingers, taking that feeling and putting it on the page, and wondered if his heart would ever beat the same way again. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter though. 
> 
> One more left after this!

Alex realised that if he was going to keep taking bruises from Elliott, he’d need to be smarter about it. They’d need to like, plan for it. Because it put a major dampener on doing training sessions with Sam and Sebastian. The training sessions were fine, but Alex always had to find some excuse to hang back and not go into the showers, and Sebastian always seemed to want to hang back and see that he was okay.

Though this time, on a Thursday, Sebastian said:

‘Your stuff’s arriving soon. I got one of those tracking notices. I still think it’ll be a few days because Pelican Town and postage, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said. He got some muscle mags from overseas and they always came about two months later than they were supposed to. He tried to shove away the nerves over what he’d even ordered. God, terrifying now that it was about to become reality. He needed a wheelbarrow. ‘Hey, that Pinkstone dude…’

‘He has a name. It’s not actually Pinkstone,’ Sebastian said.

‘Okay, the farmer guy,’ Alex said, just to see the way Sebastian’s eyes sparked up angrily. ‘You’re like, fucking each other, aren’t you?’

Sebastian didn’t look taken aback. He simply tilted his head and contemplatively looked to the side. Alex didn’t get what was so hard about the question, it was a yes or no answer. Also, he didn’t quite understand why he’d asked.

‘Mostly, I fuck him,’ Sebastian said finally, shrugging. ‘You and Elliott? That a thing?’

‘Everyone knows that’s a thing.’

‘Yeah,’ Sebastian said, smiling. ‘Everyone does.’

‘Fuckin’ country towns,’ Alex muttered, rocking a little on his feet.

‘Well, you say it’s a country town. Mom says it’s a mountain town. Willy says it’s a seaside town. All I know is it’s in the middle of nowhere and I keep trying to hate it, and my farmer guy makes that really hard.’

‘He has a name,’ Alex said reprovingly, trying to resist the temptation to grin when Sebastian smirked. ‘and it’s not farmer guy.’

‘Do you…actually know his name?’ Sebastian said after a beat.

Alex shrugged. ‘I dunno. Never saw the point in remembering. That’s bad, isn’t it?’

‘His name’s Oliver.’

‘Just because I said it was bad, doesn’t mean I want to know,’ Alex said.

Sebastian laughed, turned and made his way to the showers, and Alex hung back. There was no way anyone would mistake the bruising for anything other than what it was. Maybe if he did more guidance-based stuff and less of the actual working out, he could skip the shower until he got home? That could work.

It struck him as strange that at no point did he consider that he should just ask Elliott to stop hurting him. The idea that Elliott wouldn’t sometimes hit him until he cried was something he didn’t even want to think about. He very carefully kept that part of him, and the part of him that had suffered violence at the hands of his dad as compartmentalised as possible. As far as he was concerned, they both felt _totally_ different, despite looking shockingly the same on the outside. But he couldn’t always trust what was happening on the outside. Sometimes, sometimes it was just about how he felt.

*

It was awkward, rocking up to Harvey’s medical practice, next to Pierre’s grocery store. Awkward because it was literally like a few houses away, and because he’d been putting this off. Even now he had his hands shoved deep in his pockets and he stared at the inside of the white, clean waiting room and hoped that Maru wasn’t in. He was pretty sure she wasn’t in, he had a fair idea of her schedule. He didn’t want to deal with Sebastian’s half-sister today. She was a nice enough nurse, but…

‘Oh, Alex?’ Harvey said, opening the double doors that led into the waiting room. No one else was there except for him. That was the way it normally was. Alex looked at one of the health posters without seeing what it was really about, and tried not to turn and walk out again. Harvey was kind of intimidating. Doctors had always intimidated the fuck out of him. As a kid, in hospitals, he remembered his dad standing over him with that look on his face that meant that if Alex so much as whispered that his dad hurt him, he’d be murdered. For sure.

Doctors were the enemy. It didn’t matter if Harvey’s eyes were kindly or that his dumb moustache and sweaters just made him look a bit bumbling.

‘You’re not due your yearly check up for a while,’ Harvey said quietly. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yep,’ Alex said.

_Lies._

‘I mean sort of no,’ Alex added. ‘Can I- This is so stupid. Can I talk about it with you privately? Like, not out here?’

‘Of course,’ Harvey said, beaming at him, like Alex had said something amazing. ‘Come along. You know the way.’

Alex didn’t take his fists out of his pockets. Not even once he was in the office with its closed door, looking at the hospital cot with its clean white sheets. Even the smells of the antiseptic… It was weird, since so many things didn’t remind Alex of the past, but these places did. Whether he thought of his dad or his mom.

‘What’s troubling you?’ Harvey said.

‘Yeah,’ Alex said, and then cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, uh. That…um….shrink, he comes by like once a month, right? Or every two weeks? I’ve never really paid attention, but grandma said… I mean does he even still come?’

‘He does,’ Harvey said, gesturing for Alex to sit down in the grey-purple chair for patients. Harvey sat down opposite him. His chair was really nice. ‘Once every two weeks.’

Alex looked around the room nervously. Did it happen in here? The head-shrinking?

Elliott had brought it up a few more times. He never sort of nagged about it – even though Alex said he did – but he wouldn’t let Alex forget about it. Sometimes Alex would bring something up, and Elliott would say:

‘I don’t know if we should talk about that in any detail, just yet. Perhaps not until you’ve talked to a professional about it. I don’t want to be your therapist, Alex.’

Which was annoying as fuck. That had once led to an argument, which had ended with Elliott patiently telling Alex that he wasn’t supposed to be his therapist, and that it’d be really easy to confuse things, and that therapy wasn’t scary anyway. Then Elliott had shrugged and said he’d gone himself, on and off, for years.

‘If you break a bone, you see a specialist. If you get a bad infection, you get antibiotics from the doctor. And if your dad fucked you up so spectacularly that you have post-trauma, you see a psychologist, or art therapist, or some other impartial person. That’s just life, I’m afraid,’ Elliott had said matter-of-factly.

‘This is stupid,’ Alex told Harvey.

‘I know it must seem that way,’ Harvey said, smiling. ‘It’s a common attitude to encounter in towns like this. But if you’re here, we might as well talk a little about your concerns, if you like? Only as much as you’re comfortable sharing. I could help you decide what you want to do?’

‘I don’t want some random person telling me I’m mental. I already know that.’

‘I think you’ll find that psychologists and counsellors don’t keep their jobs for terribly long if they keep telling their patients they’re ‘mental,’’ Harvey said, shrugging. ‘Malcolm certainly doesn’t do things like that. He’ll just ask you what you want out of therapy, talk to you about it, and you’ll go from there. If you don’t like something he’s saying, you can tell him that. You always have the right to fire him or leave mid-session or redirect. Just like a patient of mine can walk out, get a second opinion, or refuse a needle because they’re scared.’

‘Yeah, but they still need the needle,’ Alex said, frowning. That was another thing he’d imagined while cold-sweating, being forced to talk about things he didn’t want to talk about, and being sent away if he didn’t talk about them.

‘Not always,’ Harvey said. ‘Sometimes other arrangements can be negotiated. Sometimes a compromise can be reached. Malcolm isn’t really there to…make things worse. You might sometimes feel a bit more upset, due to subject matter you _choose_ to bring up, but it’s likely already upsetting you if you’re here.’

Alex shrugged. ‘I mean everyone knows about it already.’

‘They don’t,’ Harvey said, sighing. He pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with an honest-to-god handkerchief, then replaced them. ‘They know glimpses, bits and pieces, no one else has your experience of what happened, Alex. Even if they did, that doesn’t take away from the fact that you may find yourself wanting to talk to someone, sometimes.’

Alex told himself he wasn’t squirming in the chair, and he wasn’t really. Just kind of clenching his hands harder, unclenching them, clenching them again. His knuckles hurt.

‘He wouldn’t tell you about it, would he?’ Alex said abruptly.

‘Only if he thought that your life or someone else’s life was in imminent danger, then he’s legally bound. Otherwise, you have complete confidentiality. He’s also legally bound to respect that too.’

‘Huh.’

‘So what do you think?’

‘Fucked if I know,’ Alex said, and then blushed. ‘Sorry. For swearing. I mean- I don’t know.’

‘I’ll tell you what. It’s a quiet day, I don’t have anyone due, and if you like, I can ask you a few questions about how you’re getting on or feeling for about ten minutes – you don’t have to answer any if you don’t want to – and you can decide afterwards if you’d be willing to do that for about an hour with someone else.’

‘Okay,’ Alex said slowly. ‘Whatever.’

Harvey smiled like Alex had enthusiastically agreed to it, and Alex tapped his heels on the floor several times and then squared his shoulders and prepared himself for the worst.

*

‘I mean he seemed pretty upset about how many nightmares I have?’ Alex said, rolling onto his back and looking up at the sky. Elliott was already watching the clouds scudding by, and the picnic blanket beneath them had been warmed by the sun. It was spring, but the day felt uncharacteristically summery, and they’d decided to spend the afternoon near the rundown community centre, in the big green open space that was beautiful, but a little overgrown.

‘Did he?’ Elliott said.

‘I tried to tell him that I don’t wake my grandparents up with them, except maybe four times a year. But that didn’t help at all.’

‘Perhaps Harvey thinks that you shouldn’t be having that many at all,’ Elliott said. ‘Maybe he doesn’t care about your grandparents in this, and is simply worried about you.’

‘But they don’t even _bother_ me,’ Alex exclaimed, annoyed. ‘I mean the big ones do, like that one- Like that other night with you, but like… I _hardly_ have those! The rest are just, I dunno, like blips on the sleep radar. Have a shitty dream. Turn over, go back to sleep. Rinse and repeat. That’s just how it is.’

‘It’s not how it’s supposed to be,’ Elliott said. ‘Not every night. Not multiple times a night. I try to imagine it. You as a child, believing that this is normalcy, and not wanting to disturb anyone with them, or perhaps it was even dangerous for you to do so… I don’t like thinking of you going through that alone. I doubt Harvey does either.’

‘I’m not a child now,’ Alex said.

‘Everyone carries a child in them,’ Elliott said, closing his eyes and shading them from the sun, ‘even if they don’t want to admit it.’

‘Fuck that.’

‘Eloquent as always.’ Elliott laughed, turning to face Alex. ‘But I appreciate the sentiment. Still, what did you think?’

‘I dunno, I said I’d try it,’ Alex said. He turned onto his side as well, and then resisted the urge to tell Elliott that he was super gay for threading his fingers through Alex’s. There was nothing he couldn’t say to Elliott that he wouldn’t also be saying to himself. Besides, Elliott had fucked plenty of women, and Alex had only done it once with a woman and not really…understood the appeal. So maybe out of the two of them, Alex was the super gay one. Weird.

‘I’m proud of you.’

‘Shut up,’ Alex said. ‘I don’t need that.’

‘I didn’t say it because you _needed_ it,’ Elliott said. ‘I said it because that’s how I feel.’

‘Why can’t you just swallow down how you feel like the rest of us?’

‘Ah,’ Elliott said. ‘I tried that, thank you very much, and found it to be a colossal waste of my time. An absolutely _prodigious_ type of tomfoolery.’

Elliott leaned towards him, his voice lowered, and Alex gritted his teeth together when he realised that Elliott was trying to seduce him solely with the tone of his voice. He did that sometimes, when he was talking about the most benign things, he’d get a look in his eyes, and he’d keep talking about getting the piano tuned or going crabbing or whatever, and Alex would sit there hard in his shorts or jeans.

‘Do you ever take it up the ass?’ Alex said quickly.

Elliott hesitated, then laughed. ‘What brought that on?’

‘I dunno, do you?’

‘Do you want to fuck me?’ Elliott said. ‘I’d let you.’

Alex blinked, staring at Elliott in surprise. Except, that wasn’t what he’d been angling for at all. Confronted with the reality that maybe he _could_ fuck Elliott, he realised just how weird it’d be, and _then_ he realised how strange it was that he didn’t want it. Was that normal? Shouldn’t he want to like…fuck someone that way?

‘Uh,’ Alex said, ‘so…you’d really let me do that?’

‘Of course I would. I’ve just never gotten the impression that you’re much of a switch, or hmm…that vers _._ Do you want to?’

Switch. Vers. Alex didn’t know what those things meant.

‘Is it bad if I don’t…want to?’

‘Not at all,’ Elliott said.

‘But do you want me to? I mean if you’ve done it before, and you miss it, and you want that…’

If Elliott wanted it, Alex would find a way to make it happen. It wasn’t like it was _gross_ to think about.

‘I don’t crave it as you do,’ Elliott said. ‘I find the sensations interesting, compelling, and I _am_ a hedonist. But my ass doesn’t sing to me that I need to be regularly filled with a good-sized dick in order to _function.’_

‘Whoa,’ Alex said. ‘Mine doesn’t do that either? My ass did- My- _I_ was doing completely fine before I met you. With _nothing_ up there.’

‘Were you though?’ Elliott said, his tone just patronising enough that Alex slapped him on the forearm.

‘I hate you.’

‘In all sincerity, if I knew someone as determined to get their huge cock up my ass as viciously and often as I do to you, I’d hate them too. Seems only fair really. I’d manufacture some glorious, magnificent hate to hastily cover over the fact that I craved how much it hurt. If I was anything like that, of course.’

_‘You-’_

‘Yes?’

‘Have you always talked this way?’ Alex said, changing the subject, cheeks hot and ears burning and swearing that there was no way to win an argument with Elliott, when Elliott was in this mood. He was also a little hard. Not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough that his ass clenched just once, like he did need it.

‘No,’ Elliott said, laughing. ‘I chose it. I always feel as though I’ve been born a little left of the right era. Of course, I say that, knowing full well I’d be executed for being pansexual in another time. But let’s pretend that’s not an issue. The way they used to talk, deliberately poetic and lyrical, trying to reach for…better words, I respect that. What a shame it is, to live in an age where everyone tries to communicate as quickly and in as truncated a form as possible. I don’t condemn anyone else for it, but it makes me feel as though I don’t belong.’

‘You don’t,’ Alex said. ‘I mean, like… You don’t even want to, though. You don’t really open up to anyone.’

‘This sounds _very_ familiar,’ Elliott said, pinning Alex with a look. ‘The thing is, I know very well how people think of me. I know that I absolutely drip with pretention, I understand that my velvet coats found in thrift stores and my polished, new boots, and my long, lustrous hair all make me things that are a bit odd in certain places. At university – in a humanities course – I hardly stood out. You should have seen the things my mother did to her own hair. She’d be so jealous of all the dyes everyone had access to now. She was trying to do _ombré_ before it was ever a thing.’

It was amazing how Elliott just talked about her. Alex could tell it was hard for him. His voice would change, there was a naked longing there, but he still did it. Alex didn’t know how to tell Elliott that really, the thing that probably made him stick out the most, was that he just talked about shit no one else wanted to or was ready to. Then again, Alex had never heard Elliott do that around his grandparents, or anyone else. He was usually just quick to praise the weather and ask people how they were doing, instead of volunteering information about his own state of mind.

Was that something he only did with Alex? Opening up like this?

‘You’re like your mom,’ Alex observed, ‘aren’t you?’

‘I’m like both of them,’ Elliott said. ‘I have my father’s voice, and I have his straight hair, but I have her shade in it. This auburn that had me mocked at school, while my mother told me fiercely that I was a bright little phoenix boy, who should be _proud_ of the flames that grew from my head. When you have a poet for a mother, no moment is entirely normal, and they all become so profound you begin to expect it from life. Every momentous occasion, even just sitting here, and I wonder how I’d capture it in words.’

Alex swallowed the lump in his throat, and wondered if that was what it was like, being with Elliott. Every moment no longer entirely normal. Everything becoming profound.

‘You never talk about her,’ Elliott said. ‘Not that you’re obligated.’

‘It’s hard,’ Alex said. ‘You make it look so easy. But I get that it’s not. No one talked about her when she died. My grandma would always just start crying, and my grandpa got mad at me for upsetting her, and I know he- I know he wasn’t _really_ mad at me? He was just upset at the situation. But I didn’t know that when I was a kid. I spent a few years waiting for… Waiting to see how he’d treat me when he got _really_ mad, until I realised that I was just waiting for nothing. Like, I’d already seen it.’

‘No one ever told you it wasn’t normal for parents to treat their children the way your father treated you?’

‘No,’ Alex said, shrugging. ‘I mean I could pick things up from the town, but I sort of felt like, whatever he had, it touched all of us. They were weird around me and my mom too, even if they were friendly. So it felt like it was all of us as a family. Not just him. And you never know what goes on behind closed doors, right? So I just honestly thought a lot of the kids at school just had…massively high pain thresholds, or were maybe braver than I was, because I was scared a lot when I was a kid.’

Alex laughed weakly, and then covered his eyes.

‘Maybe this is why I don’t talk about her. Fuck.’

Elliott’s hand came out and curved around his upper arm, a solid, anchoring touch. It was hard to stay upset beneath the sun, on the scratchy picnic blanket. Alex sighed. His fingers left his eyes. He wasn’t even teary. He was just tired. It’d been a long day.

‘It’s all…tangled up,’ Alex said. ‘I can’t talk about one thing without another thing being there. That was what he did. You have to tell me if I’m- I’m too much like him. I know I’m already like him. But if it’s too much… Except that’s not on you, I know that. I’m keeping an eye on it. I don’t want to be like that. I know we fuck around a lot, like, literally, figuratively, whatever. But I don’t-’

Fingers on his lips, and Alex’s rambling stuttered to a halt.

‘You’re not like him,’ Elliott said. ‘You have a good heart. I wish you could see it.’

‘My mom thought my dad had a good heart too,’ Alex said against Elliott’s fingers.

Elliott flinched, like a fly had crawled across his skin. But then he stared at Alex with something insistent in his eyes.

‘Stop doing that,’ Elliott said. ‘I’m not your mother. And you are not your father. We are not acting out what happened to you in your childhood. If that’s the kind of thing you tell yourself, I can’t stop you from doing that, but I would like you to stop casting me in a role I don’t actually belong in. I am not my mother, just because I write poetry, and you are not your father, just because you have a corrupted relationship to your own anger or your emotions. That’s reductive, and it’s wrong.’

Alex stayed silent. He wanted to argue, but he didn’t disagree with all of Elliott’s points. There was also a weird tingling sensation when Elliott lectured him like this. Like they were back in Elliott’s home, and they were doing _other_ things.

‘Fucking hell,’ Alex said. ‘Jesus, what have you done to me?’

Alex collapsed forward onto his stomach and buried his face into the blanket.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Elliott said, touching Alex’s shoulders in that light, frequent way that indicated he was probably panicking.

‘I know you just said something super serious, but I’m sort of… I mean I’m sort of taking it in a way you didn’t mean for me to take it?’ Alex’s voice rose at the end as he realised just how humiliating it was. ‘I don’t think I can have serious conversations with you anymore. Look what you’ve fucking done. You use that voice during- during… you _know_ what you use that voice for, Elliott.’

At that, Elliott swung his legs over Alex’s hips – in fucking _broad daylight at the park_ – and then leaned forwards, rolling his pelvis down into the rise of Alex’s ass.

‘We’re in public,’ Alex cautioned.

‘No one’s here.’

‘We. Are. In. Public.’

‘But no one’s here,’ Elliott purred.

‘We were having a serious conversation!’ Alex squawked. ‘Serious mood! Not sex mood!’

‘Do you think my lectures would stick more if I had my cock in your ass at the same time? Or would that be a distraction, do you think? Maybe that just means I have to _repeat_ myself a great deal. What a shame. How long do you think it will take for the lesson to,’ Elliott rolled his hips down again, _‘stick?’_

‘Fuck no,’ Alex breathed. He was hard, and his gut already ached at the thought of it. ‘Okay, fine. But not here, okay? Not here.’

‘Mm, I’ll give you that one, _today_ anyway. You’ll owe me.’

‘I don’t _owe_ you for not letting you fuck me in public. Jesus, get off me.’

Elliott rolled off, slapping Alex’s ass as he went, and Alex stayed on his stomach and pushed himself up to his elbows and glared at Elliott, who looked mirthful and pleased. Alex shook his head at him.

‘I think I have a thing for you telling me off?’ Alex said, and then burst out laughing. ‘I’m so fucked up.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Elliott said, petting the top of Alex’s head. ‘I know. I rather like it, actually.’ He leaned forwards then and pushed his lips close to Alex’s ear. ‘And, Alex, my flower, you’d best believe there are _so many things_ I can tell you off for. We’ll never run out.’

Instead of that being horrible or scary, it just made Alex’s cock twitch. He closed his eyes and shook his head, because he liked it so much. He was supposed to hate this, he was sure. Instead, it felt like he was cheating the system with someone he loved, and he got to turn it into something crazy and lustful and fucked up but also _good._

Like, he was having a picnic outside in the afternoon, instead of running himself ragged at the gym or just wearing his letter jacket and mucking about on his own with a stupid gridball like a scout would just appear. He was…actually doing stuff that meant something.

He turned onto his back and looked up at Elliott, and then touched his fingers to Elliott’s hair. He took hold of it, used it to pull Elliott lower and kiss him, because no one was around, because he could.

*

Everything arrived the following Monday, and Alex went to Sebastian’s, surprised to find a wheelbarrow already there, along with several bags of compost. He looked everything over, because that was way more than what he’d ordered.

‘Oliver said the compost and fertiliser will help,’ Sebastian said. ‘Storm’s blowing in though, and you don’t want to leave those things in the pots forever. You going to do it now? Or wait? I can keep stuff here. Elliott doesn’t come by our place pretty much ever.’

‘I’m gonna do it tonight.’

That had always been the plan. He’d do it at night, by torchlight, because Elliott slept really deeply and then he could wake up to it in the morning. It might be raining, and that’d be shitty, but…

Alex glared up at the heavy grey clouds rolling in. It wasn’t just a storm they’d predicted, but four days of heavy spring rains. He didn’t want to wait. A couple of the plants already looked a bit unhappy at being shipped in the first place.

He gently tipped each of them over, but only one was root-bound, and it didn’t look too severe. He teased at the roots poking through the bottom of the pot and hoped that it wasn’t bad enough to strangle the plant. He could thin the roots out a little, but not all plants liked that, so he’d be careful.

‘You need help?’ Sebastian said.

‘Nah, I mean, I can do this part.’

‘You think he’ll like it?’

‘Fuck knows,’ Alex said, rubbing at his forehead. ‘Maybe not. I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. He’s got some stuff growing behind his place, and a vine that grows at the front, so I know stuff can _grow_ there. I just- I dunno, maybe he’ll… I dunno. He could hate it. I never asked. I don’t even know if he’d like… I kind of didn’t think this through.’

‘It didn’t seem that impulsive when you asked me about it. Seems nice, actually. Are you sure you want to do it tonight though? You could wait.’

‘It’s gonna drive me nuts having everything here and not doing it,’ Alex said. ‘So I guess I’ll take my chances with the storm?’

He shrugged, and Sebastian just looked at him like he was crazy, but Sebastian sort of did that to everyone who said they liked daylight and exercise, so Alex was kind of used to that by now.

*

It took two long trips, after midnight, in the rain. It wasn’t quite hammering down, not yet, but Alex was already soaked and thinking that the sooner he got this over and done with, the better.

Elliott’s windows were completely dark, which meant that Elliott was asleep. Elliott had the tape in an X on the glass, which Alex later learned was to stop glass from going everywhere if they shattered during a storm or hurricane. The winds were howling and the rain was loud, so Alex knew that unless the thunder came too close overhead, Elliott would be dead to the world. In fact, Alex knew that Elliott could sleep through really loud booms of thunder too. It was like the sound of the ocean and storms were just white noise to him while he slept, and even lightning didn’t really wake him up.

Which was why Alex had decided to do it at night.

His socks squelched into his trainers as he cast the torchlight over the ground, thinking of what he should do first. He had to work fast, because if he spent consecutive hours out in this weather, he was pretty sure he’d regret it afterwards.

But that was okay. How long could it take?

*

Several hours later, covered in beach sand, mulch, compost, and bits and pieces of the nice soil they used in the pots, Alex shook his head like a dog and water flew everywhere. It made no difference. But he was finally satisfied with what he’d done. It didn’t look like much, but Alex was chilled down to the bone, and he bent down to shift one of the smooth, round rocks, even though he could hardly see it.

His feet and hands were numb, his teeth chattering. The idea of returning the torch and garden tools to Sebastian’s and then going home in this weather was daunting. He looked longingly at Elliott’s dark windows, thought of the shower that was waiting in his home.

Thunder clashed overhead and Alex flinched, then swore. His eyes burned from the lightning. Both had happened nearly at the same time, and a huge, angry gust of wind mowed into him. He staggered, then held the torch to the plants again. They were all still there. The wind hadn’t uprooted them. The rocks were protecting them a little. Eventually the storm would die down and they’d have the spring and summer to take root.

It could work.

He coughed roughly and winced. Then flinched when thunder boomed directly overhead. Alex felt it through the _ground._ The hairs on his arms tried to prickle up, despite being fairly smothered by the rain.

_Think quick, Alex._

There was nothing for it. He left all the remaining equipment underneath the wheelbarrow, to protect it from the rain as much as possible. Then he went around to the front of Elliott’s house and found the spare key jammed into a crack between the windowsill eave and the rest of the frame.

He let himself in. It was impossible to be quiet. The wind yanked the door out of his hand and banged it inward, and Alex had to close it by leaning into it. He stared in amazement when he stopped still and listened. He heard nothing except slow, steady breathing. Elliott was fast asleep.

He got the door locked, walked to the shower, socks squishing in his trainers and leaving puddles on the ground. There, he closed the door and wondered if this was breaking in, or if this was okay. Should he wake Elliott first? No. He sniffed rain and seawater into his nose, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Even his lips had turned a little blue-ish.

The shower hurt. Alex hopped from foot to foot, trying to avoid the hot water, even as he knew he needed it. His clothing steamed on the ground of the bathroom floor, and after about five minutes, the hot water had become blissful and Alex changed the temperature until he could scald himself bright red. He tipped his head back, rinsing sand and salt out of his hair. He cleaned his hands and elbows of dirt, he even had a smear of soil on his collarbone, despite having worn decent clothing against the cold.

Once he was thoroughly warmed, he towelled off. Another boom of thunder, crashing around the small home, and he poked his head out of the door to see Elliott in exactly the same position as before.

Alex spent some time hedging in the bathroom, and then he draped his clothing over the shower rail, and crept to Elliott’s bed. Even just walking there from the bathroom, he picked up beach sand and water and other crap, because he’d made such a mess on the floor. He could clean that up tomorrow, couldn’t he?

He slipped under the covers, wanting to press himself to Elliott’s back, but he resisted, because he didn’t even have permission to _be there._

It was only about two more hours until dawn anyway. Maybe three on the outside.

It was the stupid rocks that’d done it. If he hadn’t felt the sudden need to make sure there was a nice protective screen for the plants and then spent a couple of hours walking across the rickety plank-bridge to the rock pools and back – way too many times – looking for suitable rocks in the dark while waves crashed nearby, he’d be home safe and not worrying about Elliott being mad at him in the morning for just turning up. Maybe he’d think Alex was trying to move in or something?

What had seemed like a great idea at the time, now seemed ridiculous. Elliott wrote him poetry that was mind-blowing and Alex…what the hell was he even doing?

Alex sighed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

Ah well, it’d shake out soon enough, and he’d know whether he’d royally screwed things up or not.

*

Gentle kissing at his jaw, and Alex reached out to push the sensation away, then belatedly realised he liked it, and sighed. He turned into Elliott’s naked body and felt an arm lazily stroke him from his armpit to halfway down his thigh.

‘Everything okay?’ Elliott said, even as he kissed the underside of Alex’s jaw, licking the hollow beneath his ear.

‘What time is it?’

‘About seven,’ Elliott said. ‘There’s been a lull in the storm. We didn’t- You weren’t meant to stay over last night, were you?’

‘Yeah, about that…’ Alex thought now was as good a time as any to explain, but then Elliott’s hand was creeping up the inside of his thigh, and Alex trembled, leaning forwards into that touch. ‘Super distracting, by the way.’

‘I like you in my bed,’ Elliott said. ‘I certainly like waking up to you being here. I hope it wasn’t a nightmare?’

‘Not a nightmare,’ Alex said. ‘I’m… _Elliott…’_

A hand around his cock, lazily tugging, and Alex – tired, worn out from the night before, felt himself melting into a pool of surrender. He made a quiet, mewling sound, and Elliott growled in response, hooking a leg over Alex’s and pulling him closer.

‘I don’t get- I don’t get what you get out of this.’

‘I’ll give you breakfast later,’ Elliott said sweetly. ‘We’ll both enjoy that. Protein. Growing bodies. Remember?’

Oh. _Oh.’_ Well, okay, that wouldn’t be _terrible_. Though Elliott was kind of pushy when he got his cock down Alex’s throat. Not like he wasn’t pushy the rest of the time. Even now, his hand was insistent and way too clever. If Alex hadn’t pissed only a few hours ago before bed, this would be uncomfortable.

‘So if it wasn’t a nightmare…’ Elliott said.

Alex groaned softly. ‘I have something to show you.’

‘Not this, then?’

‘Not- No. It’s a surprise. I guess. You might hate it. But I can fix it if you do.’

‘A present?’ Elliott said, sounding shocked. Alex wanted to open his eyes and see his expression, but Elliott hadn’t stopped moving his hand. ‘You got me a present?’

Those compelling fingers stopped, let go, and Alex used what felt like a huge amount of energy just to tell himself that it was _okay,_ and that he’d get to come later, because it was _Elliott._ But now that he was in bed, the path of least resistance looked really great. Orgasms were fantastic, if messy, and Alex had no idea what Elliott would think of what he’d done outside. It could be terrible.

‘May I have it now?’ Elliott said, sounding excited.

‘I’m- Okay. _Fine._ Let’s get up. I’ll show you.’

He slid out of bed, then paused. He concertedly ignored his cock just kind of…hanging out like that.

‘Also can I borrow a shirt? And some pants? And maybe a jacket? Fuck, I think my trainers are still wet.’

Elliott stared at him, and Alex shrugged. No way would his clothing be dry.

Elliott gestured towards his wardrobe and Alex wandered over, wanting the older stuff, the non-fancy stuff. Elliott had a really nice long-sleeved shirt that was black, and only a little too long on Alex’s arms, and then a surprisingly plush dark green turtleneck that Alex had never seen him wear. Normally Alex wasn’t into turtlenecks, but he was still chilled, so he pulled that on too. Black tracksuit pants followed.

His feet were too small for Elliott’s shoes, but two pairs of thick socks later, and he at least wouldn’t fall out of them.

Maybe he got the appeal of turtlenecks. So they looked _stupid,_ but they felt really nice.

‘Did you bring half the ocean in with you?’ Elliott exclaimed as he got up and walked across the floor, immediately lifting his foot and frowning. ‘Where’s the present? Why are your trainers still wet? Did you decide another depressed rain-soaked seagoing adventure was in order? Really, we must curtail this habit of-’

‘Fucking get dressed,’ Alex snapped, rolling his eyes.

The way Elliott looked around the room, increasingly perplexed, made Alex even more nervous. Should he just have gotten like…a book or something? Why couldn’t he do what normal people would do? He could’ve gotten a bouquet from Pierre’s, no way would Elliott mistake that as anything other than nice and romantic.

`Okay,’ Alex said. ‘Come on.’

He didn’t look behind him as he went outside, looking up at the sky. While it was lighter over the cottage, there were some slate grey clouds looming in the horizon which weren’t promising at all. The winds had dropped down, and there were shells and seaweed strewn all over the beach, but not too close to Elliott’s place at least.

‘Alex, I have no idea…’

Elliott stumbled to a halt beside Alex, staring down at the small plants that had stayed rooted in overnight. The little barrier of stones.

There were ten in total. Enough mulch and compost to make it look almost official. They curved from the front of Elliott’s house to the side. It was only small, but it was a start.

‘See,’ Alex said, ‘um, this is… These ones here- Wait, no. Okay, so, the rose in your house is going to die. I think you know that, and I know you don’t like me talking about it, but I wanted to help. Then I got thinking about how maybe there might be roses that can grow by the sea. And at first I was going to get you another pot plant. But actually there’s not really _any_ rose that likes living without enough sunlight, that can _also_ handle being dumped outside by the beach every now and then, so that was out?’

He looked at Elliott, who was still staring, his eyes wide. Alex also realised Elliott hadn’t brushed his hair, and looked way messier than he normally did. In Alex’s imagination, Elliott had been dressed all fancy like normal, coiffed hair glossy in the sun, and Alex had presented whatever this was, and…that was about as far as he’d gotten.

He made himself kneel by the plants closest to the cottage. Pointed to one of the plants with dark, glossy leaves.

‘These are _Rosa rugosa._ They grow by the sea. There’s a few variations, and I got different ones. But you said your mom liked classics, so there’s red and white mainly. They can handle coastal winds, and high salt, and with a bit of screening, do really well. They don’t get diseased, and they’re all scented when they flower, which I thought you’d like, since you go on about that shit sometimes.

‘And then these ones are for screening. Like, they’ll grow into shrubs, but they have flowers too. I thought maybe…a bit more protection for the side of your house anyway. But if it gets in the way of where you store your boat and stuff, you can cut them down or remove them or whatever. There’s _Pittosporum,_ which has white flowers, and then I got some lemon-scented myrtle, and um, this one I’m not so sure about but I guess we’ll see? It’s a _Laurus nobilis,_ but bred specifically for the sea. It’s an evergreen, and the root system will be good for the rest of the plants once it gets going. _If_ it gets going? It’s a bay tree. You can cook with the leaves. They smell okay I guess.’

Alex stood and resisted the urge to chew on the corner of his thumb.

‘Also if you don’t like it, I can get rid of it. Grandma said she’d take the bay tree. And I promise I can look after it. I don’t know if you really like gardening, but it won’t be hard, and it’s just another kind of exercise, so you know I…’

Elliott finally turned to look at Alex.

‘This is why your trainers are wet,’ Elliott said.

‘Yeah I sort of…I couldn’t do it during the _day,_ and everything just kind of arrived so I thought I might as well – Do you like it?’

‘It’s a garden,’ Elliott said.

‘I dunno what it is at the moment,’ Alex said, looking over at the baby plants, the sodden ground.

‘A rose garden,’ Elliott added, ‘by the sea. My mother always said salt killed plants by the sea.’

‘Most of them, sure,’ Alex said. ‘But seaside gardens are a thing.’

_But do you fucking like it though?_

‘So I…write some poetry, and you do _this?’_ Elliott said, and Alex shook his head, and gnawed off the tip of his thumbnail.

‘No, um,’ Alex shook his head, ‘it was like a week after- You remember when I was poking at the rose and you punished me? I kind of thought of it around then. Not because of the punishment. But like, I was thinking that you’d probably be sad when the rose died. So this way, maybe you’ll be sad when it does, but happy at the same time?’ He laughed. ‘It’s the reason I’m training Sebastian in the first place, because he…because he helped me look this stuff up on the internet.’

‘That long ago,’ Elliott said, now looking like he’d been hit in the head.

Alex was beginning to suspect that Elliott wasn’t really _good_ at this part. Which was weird, because he was good at everything. Alex really just wanted to hear if it was terrible or not, at least when Elliott had given him the poetry, Alex had said he’d liked it almost straight away.

‘Elliott, I’m going _insane_ right now,’ Alex said. ‘Do you hate it? Is it okay? What the fuck are you thinking?’

‘You’ve given me a garden by the sea,’ Elliott said slowly, ‘and you put roses in it. No one has ever… And I would _never_ have thought of it myself. I would have gone my entire life and never known such a thing was possible. I am overawed, Alex. I want to tell you that I love it, that I adore it, but I’m not certain there’s a language for something like this, and if there is one, I haven’t learned it yet. Goodness.’

Elliott lifted the tips of his fingertips to his eyes and brushed underneath them delicately. They came away wet.

‘A garden,’ Elliott said.

‘It could die,’ Alex said. ‘Just warning you, I’ve never done this before. It’s also like, I dunno, we can add things. I mean you can. If you want.’

‘Careful,’ Elliott said, ‘you’ll have me falling in love with the sea, next.’

He moved closer to Alex and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close until their chests pressed together.

‘So…should we go back in?’ Alex said.

‘I think perhaps I would rather stay out here for a while,’ Elliott said. ‘If that’s something you could stand, given you were the one labouring at night, in the dark, during a _storm_ , to make this happen. And you know all the names of the plants? That’s the research you did with Sebastian?’

‘It was hard to narrow down the plants,’ Alex admitted. ‘I was there forever. Poor Sebastian. He doesn’t give a shit about flowers.’

‘And you do?’ Elliott pressed his cheek to Alex’s face.

‘You do,’ Alex said.

‘I think I’m still stuck somewhere back in incredulity. When the rest of me catches up to this, I’m going to _thank_ you later. Properly. _Personally.’_

‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re going to fuck me.’

A shared smile, and then Elliott wrapped his other arm around Alex, placing his chin on Alex’s shoulder, angled to look at the plants. A warmth blossomed in Alex’s torso, and he closed his eyes.

‘No one’s ever loved me like you do,’ Elliott said.

‘Same,’ Alex said, pressing closer.

A distant brontide, the sky rumbling with the promise of another storm; though Alex now knew the plants would likely survive it. The waves rhythmically crashing upon the sand, a sound that Alex now missed when he couldn’t hear it. The wind fell onto the beach in gentle sighs, not harsh enough to dry the sand, but enough to make the leaves of the new plants rustle, reminding Alex they were there, that he’d done something good for someone he loved. It was a feeling he wanted to experience more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thanks so much for joining me, folks. I’m definitely open to writing oneshots of these two in the future, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the journey. :D

 

 

A month and a half later, one of the plants in Elliott’s garden went from ‘sickly’ to ‘definitely not going to make it,’ though Alex wasn’t surprised, and had expected to lose a few more while he learned what would survive the sea and what wouldn’t. Elliott had fussed over it, then stared on in horror when Alex simply removed it with a spade and said they could look up what new one they wanted to put in there.

‘Your mom was a florist, so why does it matter so much?’ Alex said. ‘Picked flowers are _meant to die.’_

‘Yes, but…’ Elliott stared at him, and Alex – annoyed – placed his fists on his hips and waited. Eventually Elliott only looked down at the removed plant and sighed. ‘You put so much work into it. And the creature is still living, I suppose.’

‘You go crabbing all the time! I’ve seen you boil fresh lobsters. I’ve heard them like, _dying_ in the pot while you just…do whatever in the house like it doesn’t matter.’

Alex closed his eyes. This was just going to be one of those things that Elliott was sentimental about, and really, after how Elliott was about the stupid rose inside, it made a weird kind of sense. No point just trying to argue Elliott into realising how stupid he was being. If it was that simple, Alex would have left being stupid behind a long time ago.

‘It’s cool,’ Alex said abruptly. ‘Come here.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Come here,’ Alex said, beckoning him over, even as he walked to Elliott. He slung his arms around Elliott’s broad shoulders and felt their height difference, even though Alex was shorter, sometimes Elliott felt small. ‘I’m not gonna do something like a plant _funeral,_ but how about I deal with this shit, and you can help me pick something new later. Okay?’

Elliott’s hands had slid automatically to Alex’s waist, squeezing gently. He didn’t say anything, and Alex wondered if this would be the point where only a couple of months ago, Elliott would’ve snarked or said something insulting. Alex valued the times Elliott chose to be silent. Also, Elliott’s back felt really nice as Alex ran his hands over it.

‘You good?’ Alex said.

‘A little embarrassed, if you must know,’ Elliott said, laughing into Alex’s neck.

‘Yeah, well. But your back feels really nice today.’

‘Thank you, I made it myself.’

‘Shut up,’ Alex laughed. ‘Let me get all this sorted, and then like…lunch?’

‘It’s only ten,’ Elliott said. ‘Brunch?’

‘I am _not_ someone who has brunch,’ Alex scoffed. ‘Do you see me having brunch?’

It turned out that Alex was pretty happy with the idea of brunch, even if he’d never use that word to describe it. He could just imagine how his grandma would respond. Then again, brunch with his grandparents didn’t sound terrible. Maybe he could get Elliott to suggest it, because Elliott was always looking for new ways to become best friends with Alex’s grandparents. Like he didn’t know they loved him to pieces, and thought he could do no wrong, even when he clearly could.

*

It turned out the library was way less intimidating when he realised that they could order in audiobooks for him from other libraries. Though at first the intimidation had continued when Alex was immediately confounded by the fact that the audiobook catalogue was printed in a tiny font, in pale grey, on white paper. He’d avoided the library for two weeks, knowing most people wouldn’t have a problem with it and if it’d been school he would’ve just _made_ himself and dealt with the headache after.

In the end, cheeks flushed red, he’d asked Elliott to help him with it. Then spent a good ten minutes trying to talk Elliott down from marching to the library and yelling at the librarian about it. Like, it was humiliating enough, and he wasn’t a fucking _kid,_ he just wanted to know what sort of things he could order.

Elliott photocopied the catalogue and brought it home, then read the titles out to Alex, summarising the plots for those he knew. He put an asterix next to the ones Alex thought sounded pretty awesome. Elliott also added a few classics to the list, and a bunch of Shakespeare, to which Alex said:

‘Super gay.’

‘Oh, you have no idea,’ Elliott purred. ‘Deliciously so.’

‘What, _really?’_

‘Men have been buggering each other for far longer than we’ve had trendy terms to describe it,’ Elliott said, leaning back in his chair and grinning. ‘Well, all right, I suppose it’s conjecture regarding Shakespeare, but I like to think- Actually, that reminds me, let’s see if we have Oscar Wilde in here. I think you’ll find him wonderfully pretentious, I can’t wait to see you proclaim what a wanker he was.’

Alex stared at him, but Elliott seemed genuinely enthusiastic about it.

It turned out that Alex really enjoyed audiobooks. He listened to them at the gym while working out, and at home while working out. It helped him stay focused, until he got caught up in certain scenes or moments of dialogue, and then he’d just stand beside a treadmill staring off into space, or forget how many reps he was aiming for and end up overdoing or underdoing it.

It felt like he was cheating at reading, because it turned out he kind of loved books. Then, he felt as though he’d been cheated too, and it was a messy business, trying to decide what he was supposed to feel about all of it. Like, what right did he have to be upset about something that was his fault anyway?

‘It’s not your fault,’ Elliott said, with what Alex thought of as an endless amount of patience on the subject. ‘Have you talked to Malcolm about this?’

‘Fuck off,’ Alex snapped.

‘A witty repartee as usual. But have you?’

‘No. Maybe. I don’t like talking to him about it.’

‘Let me guess,’ Elliott said, rolling his eyes, ‘you brought it up and he told you that it wasn’t your fault and wouldn’t agree with all the dreck you spout, and then you stubbornly bedded down and refused to bring it up ever again. How dare he disagree with you? What a monster. I shall sharpen my pitchfork right now.’

Malcolm disagreed with him on bunches of things, and he even let Alex swear as much as he wanted to. But that didn’t make up for the fact that Malcolm could be kind of an ass sometimes. But Malcolm wanted to know that too, which was ridiculous.

‘You can call me an asshole,’ Malcolm had said easily. He was some older dude, about sixty, and he looked like the world’s most boring person, except that every now and then he’d draw on some analogy from his youth that indicated he’d lived an incredibly wild few decades before settling down. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t use the word _asshole,_ since mutual respect and etcetera. But you’re learning that, and in the meantime, I’d prefer to know when you’re not liking what’s happening, or what I’m saying.’

Weird.

Stupid and weird.

But somehow it wasn’t terrible, and Alex decided he’d keep on going. It was only once every two weeks anyway.

*

As the weather warmed, Elliott began swimming in the sea again. Alex hadn’t paid attention to it the previous year. He hung out at the beach in the warmer months, but usually only in the middle of the day. Now he was in a habit of going down to Elliott’s in the mornings, and it meant he got to watch Elliott’s strong freestyle as he sliced through the waves like it was easy.

That sure explained why Elliott was so fit for someone who packed away a bakery’s worth of choc-chip cookies every time he saw Alex’s grandma.

Alex stared, mesmerised, a little freaked out. He’d never been much of an ocean swimmer. He knew how to get by in the ocean; knew how to tread water and how to look out for dangerous riptides and how to get out of them if he ever got caught in one by accident. But he’d never thought about just swimming for the sake of it. He loved the beach, but the ocean sometimes scared the shit out of him. It was huge and endless and had things in it that could kill you.

Elliott, who didn’t love the sea, cut through it like a fish. Sometimes he’d quit the freestyle and duck beneath for several heart-stopping seconds, emerging some time later, like a dolphin diving and coming up for air. His hair was tied back, and he wore nothing more than trunks despite the fact that it must have been freezing.

Alex couldn’t drag himself away for the full hour and a half that he caught Elliott out there. Who the fuck swam for _that long?_

Eventually Elliott saw him, gave a lazy wave that Alex returned, and began cutting back towards the shoreline. Alex stared at him hungrily, not even bothering to ignore the way his heart was racing or how beautiful Elliott was like that, coming out of the water. Then, of course, the outline of Elliott’s cock – big even when it was limp – because the seawater didn’t hide a goddamned thing, and Alex rubbed at the back of his neck, surprised to feel how flushed it was.

Okay, so, watching Elliott swim was a thing, apparently? He was definitely going to Elliott’s in the morning throughout the spring and the summer. For sure.

‘So you can like… _swim,’_ Alex said when Elliott bent to pick up his towel, shaking out the sand before starting to wipe the water off his body.

‘Can I?’ Elliott said, in that smiling way that meant he totally knew he could and that he was good at it. Smug asshole.

‘How long have you been out there?’

‘Two hours or so,’ Elliott said, shrugging. He rubbed the towel over his face, then stopped and peeked over it, looking immediately at Alex’s crotch.

‘Hey, that’s not what I-’

‘That’s lovely,’ Elliott said, grinning. ‘Of course, my balls are currently hiding somewhere around my spleen, but I’ll happily fuck you senseless once I’ve had a shower. Or maybe in the shower?’

_‘Jesus,_ Elliott, I was just saying-’

‘I’m hot?’ Elliott said, the stupid shit-eating grin going nowhere. ‘That you think I’m hot? Is that it? Do you think I’m _hot,_ Alex?’

‘I _hate_ you,’ Alex said, leaning on the word ‘hate’ and dragging it out for several seconds longer than he needed to. ‘Like, as a sincere and major league emotion. Hate.’

Elliott stepped so close that his sand-covered toes rested on Alex’s trainers. Too close. Maybe not close enough. Alex was thinking of that shower that Elliott would take. Really, his shower was tiny. Definitely not big enough for whatever Alex was imagining.

‘Do you ever not think about sex?’ Alex said finally.

‘I’ve tried it once or twice,’ Elliott said, leaning down and pressing his cold – _cold!_ – lips to Alex’s ear. Why was that still such a turn on? The dude was a tall, drippy icicle. What the _fuck?_ ‘But I decided it wasn’t habit-forming. I’d rather peel apart the globes of your luscious, peachy ass and bury my tongue as deeply into you as it can go. It’s never deep enough though, is it, my petal? But we can remedy that, can’t we?’

Elliott stepped closer, just as Alex heard the sound of Jasmine and Vincent – the youngest children in the town – shrieking with laughter as they crested over the hill. His gut clenched in some pained response between arousal and mortification. Maybe he _wouldn’t_ watch Elliott swim on a regular basis. He was doomed.

‘Oh dear,’ Elliott said, stepping away quickly and wrapping the towel around his waist. ‘Oh, Alex, and here I thought you didn’t like to sport your erections in public. Come along, I need a shower.’

Alex gave the kids a hasty wave as they angled off towards the other end of the beach – and thank god for that, really – and he and Elliott moved up through the soft, pillowy sand, Alex more excited at the prospect of getting laid than caring that it was during the day, and people would probably hear them.

Okay so he cared about that, but that was why they had gags and pillows to bite into or Elliott’s fingers to suck on or…

‘I didn’t think about sex this much until I met you,’ Alex grumped, locking the door behind him.

‘Tragic,’ Elliott said, pressing a hand to his heart. ‘The saddest thing I’ve ever heard. I mourn for past you. I _grieve._ I am overcome with-’

Alex pressed his lips to Elliott’s mouth, feeling that voice hum against sensitive skin until it broke off. Elliott laughed and dragged Alex close, making them both wet and smell sharply of the sea.

‘Are you going to watch me swim more often?’ Elliott said, dragging them both towards the bathroom.

‘Hell yeah.’

‘Aren’t you meant to be studying to become a personal trainer?’

‘Anatomy,’ Alex said, dragging his mouth across Elliott’s jaw. He hadn’t even shaved yet. God, Alex should care more about stubble burn, shouldn’t he? Except he didn’t. Except he kind of liked seeing the reddened skin later, and he liked how rough it was now, like Elliott was manhandling him even when he wasn’t. ‘Gotta learn anatomy.’

‘I’m sure,’ Elliott said, laughing as he turned on the bathroom light. ‘The next time you watch me swim, I want you to watch me while plugged up, slick and waiting for me.’

‘God.’ He could hardly imagine it. Just thinking about it made his body feel liquid and hard to coordinate. He knew the reality would probably be way more annoying, but he still wanted it. ‘You can’t just- Elliott, I’m not gonna… I mean, how-’

‘Early in the morning,’ Elliott breathed, turning on the taps, ‘perhaps Evelyn pottering about in the kitchen. I want you with your warm fingers up your own ass, fingering yourself open, using enough lube to make sure it fits nice and snug. That _stretch._ If only I could be there to see. But I can help you remove it later, can’t I?’

‘I’m not walking around Pelican Town with a… There’s a _line,_ Elliott.’

‘Do you think that’s the line?’ Elliott said, pouting a little, a wicked gleam indicating he knew that Alex would do it.

Alex knew he would too.

‘I’ve come to a grand decision!’ Elliott said abruptly, dropping the towel and beginning to step out of his trunks. He was half-hard as he peeled the wet material off his skin. The trunks fell to the ground in a wet, squelchy clump. ‘You’re going to open yourself up for me today. I want you to see you plug yourself. Good practices and all, I daresay that’s _very_ responsible of me, making sure you can do it for yourself later on.’

For once, Alex didn’t even bother protesting, too busy stripping. He tried to furtively palm his cock, but Elliott noticed everything, and Alex was losing some of his body shyness around him. Besides, the shower might be tiny, but it was definitely big enough to get in there and annoy the hell out of Elliott, and that was always fun.

*

It was summer when Elliott showed Alex the things in the sex trunk that he’d kept hidden. Alex kept asking about it, beginning to get used to the idea that Elliott really might not have a complete meltdown and run back to the city to fuck a thousand people if Alex didn’t want every single item in that trunk used on him. Besides, he wanted to know what was so bad that even Elliott thought it was a bad idea for Alex to see it. Elliott called that ‘asking for trouble,’ but whatever.

They sat on Elliott’s bed, Alex leaning against the wall and yawning, his brain a bit fried from some of the things he had to read over while studying. He was tentatively considering the course to become a physical therapist, which looked pretty hard, but also…pretty awesome. A personal training qualification would count, and Sebastian said the college had a lot of ways to help dyslexic students and…well, it was something to consider anyway. He’d been gazing at the overview longingly. He could avoid some of the reading, but not all of it, and he’d taken some painkillers for the headache the overview had caused, but his eyes still felt a bit blurry. It seemed like a good night to see what else Elliott had, because Alex was finding it hard to rouse any strong emotions about anything, and mostly he just wanted to sleep.

‘These,’ Elliott said, holding the thin wooden box – like a case that might hold pencils or something – to Alex, ‘are sounds.’

‘Pretty quiet if you ask me,’ Alex said, and smirked when Elliott just rolled his eyes. Apparently it was _fine_ if Elliott made dumb jokes all the time, but if Alex did it, Elliott pretended that Alex had no understanding of humour at all. Alex knew that was bullshit, he made Sebastian and Sam laugh all the time, and they were both not the kind of people to laugh to make someone feel better.

Alex lifted the gold clip, opened the case and looked at long, silvery rods of metal, progressing in size. Three were straight, four were curved at one end, and then there were three thinner ones that were ridged or had bumps of metal along them. Alex thought they were way too thin for assplay, and he frowned at them, trying to imagine-

‘They go in your cock,’ Elliott said.

‘Huh,’ Alex said.

‘Terrifying? It’s hard to tell when you’re like this.’

‘I’m still deciding, thanks,’ Alex said, shifting so that he was more comfortable, his legs folded up beneath him.

He couldn’t even really imagine it, except that…maybe he kind of could? Elliott sometimes did this thing where he played with the slit of Alex’s cock while giving him a handjob, or a blowjob, or just in general. It was something that Alex dug enough that he was beginning to do it himself when he jerked off – not that he needed to do that nearly as much as he used to, but still, a dude had needs and all that.

‘Does it hurt?’ Alex said finally.

A long pause, and then Elliott said: ‘It’s different. Some people say it does, other people say it doesn’t. But people in both categories can still love it. Also, I can make it hurt if you want that. It would be my pleasure.’

Alex ignored that part.

‘Can you come while they’re inside you?’

‘You know, bizarrely, I don’t usually get asked that until the person I’m doing it to is about to come and suddenly realises it might be an issue. I should give you a gold star for forethought.’

‘Well? Can you?’

‘The thinner ones, yes, I suppose. Though everything will seem large for you in the beginning, and I wouldn’t use this size on anyone anyway, as the risks of perforation are just too high.’ Elliott pointed to the thinnest one, and Alex was momentarily jarred by hearing the word ‘perforation.’ He knew their play could have consequences, not so much through experience but through Elliott talking about it at other times, but that was still a frightening word to hear at any time. ‘The larger ones, it’s… They can be used for edging, but it can also- It just needs to be done carefully. If the sound is too deep, it can force sperm back into the bladder. That sounds catastrophic, but every now and then it’s not really a problem. I suppose what I’m saying is that you _can,_ but if we ever did this together, I’d likely not go that route first.’

‘I’m gonna say…like, maybe not any time _soon,_ but I’m not ruling it out.’

‘That is refreshingly not what I was expecting,’ Elliott said, sounding surprised as he closed the box and placed it aside. ‘This, on the other hand…’

He brought out a large plastic box, like something from a hardware store. Alex opened it and saw a black contraption with a dial and some gadgets on it, and a bunch of wires, and leads, and other things. He recognised the TENS unit, because he’d learned a bit about them already through the physical therapy overview, along with ultrasound therapy and laser therapy. Of course he wouldn’t be able to do a lot of that stuff himself, not unless he was willing to go all the way with the training, but…

‘Electricity stuff,’ Alex said, looking at it.

‘Electro-play,’ Elliott said.

‘I love how you guys add the name ‘play’ on the end of everything,’ Alex said, snorting. ‘Okay, man, I’m gonna electrocute you, but it’ll be _playful,_ so that’s all that matters.’

‘Essentially that’s the philosophy, yes.’

There were two black cases. Alex opened both and realised they were both plugs. With leads coming out of them. He didn’t make any noise out loud, but he was pretty sure Elliott could hear the single unmanly shriek he let off in his head anyway. What. The. Fuck?

‘I understand it must look alarming,’ Elliott said. ‘We can stop for today, if you like. No point in-’

‘Elliott, everything you kind of do and like is alarming when it comes to this shit,’ Alex said, turning over the TENS unit. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to adjust, whatever, it helps that I’m into it as well. God, it’d give Grandma a fucking heart attack if she knew.’

‘We can still stop,’ Elliott said quietly. He was doing the serious face that meant he was worrying. But Alex wasn’t really worried, exactly, just – well – a little freaked out, but also kind of curious.

‘Does it hurt?’ Alex said abruptly.

‘It can,’ Elliott said, and then laughed. ‘Alex, most of this stuff can hurt, or it doesn’t have to. You’re going to hear a lot of the same responses from me if that’s your question of choice.’

‘Touchy bastard,’ Alex said, fingering the leads. ‘Besides, it’s not like you’d ever let me try this stuff on you first. Maybe I want to know exactly how badly it’s going to fuck me up before it fucks me up.’

‘I’d let you use this on me,’ Elliott said, frowning. ‘What makes you think I wouldn’t?’

‘What, seriously?’

‘Of course,’ Elliott said. ‘Except, ah…’

_Here we go,_ Alex thought. _He’s gonna wriggle out of it._

‘I’d want you to do a course in the city first, on safety practices around electro-play. There are a lot of things I’m happy to show you, but working with electrical currents is another matter entirely. But then yes, we could go into the city, I have some friends who could teach you, and I’d be happy to be the one you try that with. Honestly, they’d be happy too. I hear I make the most delicious noises, depending on the voltage and the unit in play.’

Alex knew, objectively, that Elliott had experienced a lot of the things he used on Alex or had in his collection. But hearing it stated so matter-of-factly always made him pause and get stuck on the mental image of other people seeing Elliott like that. Alex still had no real desire to fuck Elliott, which seemed to be great for both of them, but this…

He’d never really thought of it – Elliott’s place in the city – as a world he could have access to. But with only a few sentences, Elliott made it clear that Alex had an invitation into that world too.

‘Really?’ Alex said. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

Elliott brushed away a fall of auburn hair that had crossed his features. He shook his head, smiling in that way that was half-enigmatic, half really hot.

‘I have to go into the city for some of the exams anyway,’ Alex said. ‘So…I dunno. Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ Elliott said, laughing, taking the box and shutting everything away. ‘All right, last but not least I suppose… This one I won’t leave as a surprise.’ He brought out the first aid kit. ‘Needleplay, which is exactly what it says on the tin. Here, do you want to look? Or is that enough for you? I remember you saying you didn’t like needles once, but I know that what happens in a scene can be different to what happens out there. At any rate, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable showing you anything to do with this – not the first time – unless there’s another trained person there.’

‘Trained?’ Alex said.

‘First aid,’ Elliott said simply.

‘Jesus.’

‘It’s not what you think,’ Elliott said, frowning. ‘Sometimes people new to it can faint, and it’s good to simply have a third party there.’

‘This must hurt a lot.’

‘Actually…’ Elliott laughed weakly. ‘No, not especially, depending on where you’re piercing and what you’re doing. If you _want_ it to hurt, there’s plenty you can do, but at its simplest, it’s not especially painful. It’s the flood of chemicals and the mind-fuck of it and the trust and intimacy – even people rather cavalier about seeing their own blood can still be overwhelmed by something like this, and you often don’t end up seeing a great deal of it regardless.’

‘So you’re not fainting from like blood loss,’ Alex said slowly.

‘Heavens _no,’_ Elliott said, and then shrugged. ‘It’s hard to explain. If we go to the city to learn the other stuff, I can have someone show you on me, if you like.’

‘You’d do that?’

‘I’d show you myself – as in, I’d be happy to show you now, on myself,’ Elliott said, ‘but amusingly, I am one of those prone to fainting. I don’t even _want_ to, it just tends to happen. It’s one of the reasons I don’t have any tattoos. I’m quite certain what the outcome would be and I’d rather not embarrass myself that way too often.’

‘Yeah but you can’t- I mean I don’t want you making yourself pass out for… Are you scared of needles or something?’

‘No,’ Elliott said, beaming. ‘Not at all. I don’t understand it, myself. There’s usually enough of a warning if someone is doing it to me, anyway. But it’s certainly made me paranoid about attempting it with newcomers who don’t know if they’re likely to pass out or not. What do you think? Something you’re curious about? Or not at all?’

‘I need to think about it,’ Alex said carefully. He had no idea. The idea of anything making Elliott pass out was weird. Because on the one hand, he wanted to somehow bundle Elliott up and protect him from anything that would do that to him. But on the other hand he knew this was something Elliott had experienced in a scene, and he knew the rules there could be different. It was odd, after all of this, to find himself feeling so protective of Elliott.

He did though. Whether it was someone in the town making fun of Elliott’s clothing – not that Elliott couldn’t handle himself – or the way Elliott sometimes looked at the roses outside, like they were hurting and helping him at the same time. Elliott might be taller and have more life experience and come across like he knew everything about everything sometimes – asshole know-it-all that he was – but there was something about him that needed to be looked after. He needed the cookies Alex’s grandma baked and he needed family dinners and he needed company, especially when he was torturing himself at the typewriter and became convinced that everything he’d ever written was terrible.

For some reason though, it made the idea of needles actually not that terrifying. Alex didn’t know if he’d ever get anything out of it, but whatever.

‘Here I sit,’ Elliott said, ‘convinced you’d be telling me how gross and disgusting it was.’

‘Everything you like is gross and disgusting,’ Alex said, smirking. ‘I’m still here, aren’t I?’

He’d expected some wicked look in response, some smug satisfaction that led into innuendo. Instead, Elliott just smiled at him. That expression was all earnest and true and made Alex flush and feel cagey and like he had to immediately go punch a wall to prove he was still a dude. It stripped him faster than anything else could.

‘Cut it out,’ Alex managed, when Elliott reached for him.

‘Put your arms around me,’ Elliott demanded.

‘Now is not the time for you to go on some kind of romance bender, you-’

‘Hold me,’ Elliott said, his voice rich. Like it was a perfectly normal thing for someone to ask for. Alex found himself falling with Elliott back into the bed, his arms around him, his head by Elliott’s head and lying on top of him, their legs tangled up. ‘I love you.’

‘Freak,’ Alex muttered.

Elliott only made a sound of agreement, and his arms held Alex close, both of them breathing together. It wasn’t super comfortable. The electro-play kit was leaning into his side. He was wearing too much clothing. But it was warm and Elliott always smelled good. His hair especially. Alex buried his nose into it, let his breathing turn slow and sleepy. It’d been such a long day, and the back of his skull still ached.

‘Why do you always feel so good?’ Alex asked, plaintive. He was screwed, basically. If Elliott always felt like this, Alex was never going to want to leave him.

‘Why do you? Some of the great, unsolved mysteries of the universe. We may never know.’

‘I’m gonna fall asleep,’ Alex warned.

‘So sleep, my country boy,’ Elliott whispered, pressing a kiss into the side of his face and moving his hair away from Alex’s lips. ‘My rare flower.’

‘I love you,’ Alex said, thinking that one of his forearms was getting crushed beneath Elliott’s shoulders, and he didn’t even care. He’d do something when it went all numb and tingling, and not a moment before.

*

He put a flyer on the noticeboard at Pierre’s grocery, which said – in a really professional way thanks to Elliott’s intervention – that he needed guinea pigs for his personal training business. He didn’t expect much, but Clint came over asking about it, and confessed that working as the town smith was doing major damage to his knees, his back and his wrists. Alex had taken pains to say that personal training wasn’t physical therapy, and he was no substitute for that shit, but it had gotten him thinking that maybe physical therapy would be interesting. Harvey had a brochure about it in his office, and Alex always stared at it whenever he was seeing Malcolm. In the end, he’d taken one home and ordered the book on the curriculum.

After Clint, he was surprised when Robin – Sebastian’s mom – said that she wanted to work on her core and didn’t feel like Carol’s aerobics class was really doing much beyond cardio. It was nice to actually talk to someone who seemed to understand different muscular groups and the benefits of different types of exercise, but then super intimidating to help out an adult who was already fit. It was fun though, and he found himself with an unexpected workout buddy. She even woke up as early as he did, and found the gym less intimidating once he introduced her to the equipment.

After a few more people took an interest, Alex was surprised and a little horrified to have Gus turn up on his doorstep, asking about personal training and saying that word of mouth had gotten around.

Gus, who owned the Stardrop Saloon. Gus, who gave his dad beers and whiskey night after night, and who kept the entire town in bar food and drunkenness. Alex had never liked the guy, though he knew it wasn’t really fair. But he remembered being dragged to the tavern and sitting on one of those too-high stools while his dad drank and drank and drank, while Gus looked over uncomfortably, and Alex played the guessing game of ‘how much things were going to hurt’ when he got home.

There was something shabby about Gus. His grandma said that Gus looked cheerful and careworn, and the other townsfolk liked him and said that he always had a kind or happy word to say. But Gus was the reason Pam was still the town alcoholic now that Alex’s dad had fucked off, and on principle, his general attitude towards any bartender was poor.

‘Alex,’ Gus had said, offering a quick, bright smile. ‘Robin’s said good things about helping with her ability to lift things through her back.’

‘That’s just core strength,’ Alex said coldly. ‘If you lift from your legs while hauling those kegs of beer around, you’ll be fine.’

‘Y-yes,’ Gus said. He touched his fingers nervously to the hem of his sweater, and Alex knew he should be inviting him in. Alex’s grandparents were out, and Alex couldn’t bring himself to be nicer. He didn’t want Gus as a client. Even a paying one. ‘Still, I was wondering…’

A few seconds where Alex quickly interrogated himself to find out if he was mean enough to just send Gus away. Was he? Where was the sting and cruelty he’d found in those early days with Elliott? But Gus looked so uncomfortable already, and Alex huffed a sigh and stepped backwards into the house, indicating that Gus should come inside.

They sat at the table in the kitchen, and Alex made them both coffee. Gus made small talk about the town, talking about things Alex already knew about. That there hadn’t been enough summer storms this year and the farmer from Pinkstone was having a rough time of it, that the kids were loving the beach and collecting all the shells, that it’d been a great season for spice berries but kind of lousy for sweet peas, which Alex had noticed, because they’d been one of his mom’s favourites.

When Alex finally joined him at the table, he was tapping his heel down on the floor intermittently, winding up with tension. Finally:

‘He could never have been that bad if you hadn’t helped him all the fucking time, y’know,’ Alex said.

Gus’s hands clasped the mug and he stared at it for a long time. His bushy eyebrows drew together, and he sighed.

‘Are you sure you want to talk about this?’

‘No,’ Alex said. ‘But you have a lot of nerve coming here and asking for my help with something when you know why I don’t come to your damned tavern.’

‘That tavern’s seen a lot of good,’ Gus said. ‘But I don’t expect you to understand that. And I don’t hold that against you.’

‘Would honestly like to see you _try_ and hold that against me,’ Alex said, frowning at him. He wished that Elliott were here. But then he didn’t know what Elliott would do. Maybe Elliott would play mediator, remind him that Gus wasn’t the one who actually lifted a hand against him. Elliott would probably remind Alex that Gus was the reason that homeless Linus didn’t steal from the rubbish so much anymore when he needed a feed, because Gus gave him food for free.

‘We tried to stop him,’ Gus said, sighing. ‘A few times. I always cut him off early, but he often started drinking before he got here. He was belligerent, and he wasn’t afraid of telling us that if we cut him off too early, he’d take it out on you two. He held that whole town in his fist. Put Lewis in the hospital once. And the thing about small towns, which you know and I wish you didn’t, is that…we can be good at hiding our secrets. Too good.’

Alex didn’t want the coffee, and he pushed it aside, agitated.

‘What about Pam?’ Alex said.

‘She’s got problems,’ Gus said heavily. ‘She’s never raised a finger to Penny.’

‘You think she needs to? For it to be a problem?’

‘No- No, of course not,’ Gus said, backtracking. ‘But whether she drank or not, Pam would have her problems. She needs help greater than what this town can give her. She’s been better since the bus was repaired. Got a bit more to do now.’

‘But you’re always there, aren’t you? Making sure to help some addict along, always well-stocked with poison at the wonderful Stardrop Saloon.’

Oh, there it was, the bite that he used to reserve for Elliott, buried down beneath the expectation that he was supposed to be polite and behaved around adults. He expected Gus to storm out or yell at him, could already feel all the muscles in his body twitching towards tension, preparing to defend himself, like Gus would ever actually hit him.

‘I’m sorry, Alex,’ Gus said, looking up from the coffee, his eyes hangdog heavy. ‘I’m just so sorry. I should’ve done more. I don’t blame you for hating me. I’m not easy with it either. I’ll take it to my grave, the things I should’ve done, the things I should’ve stopped.’

Alex squirmed in his seat, feeling cold and anxious. He didn’t even know if he wanted this. He was sure he’d imagined it in the past, the town coming to him and apologising for letting it happen. But now that it was happening, Alex could feel the absence of his father in the room like a hungry, empty hollow. Gus sitting before him, trying to make amends, even though he’d take in any animal and everyone knew he was the one to take lost baby birds to.

‘Fuck,’ Alex muttered, drawing the coffee back and drinking half of it at once.

His dad was never going to apologise, and everyone else was going to do it instead. Maybe Gus had some part in it, but Alex knew he was being unfair. He hated that. He just wanted to be mad, to hold his grudge forever and tend to his bitterness like a twisted plant.

‘Your mother would have been so proud of you,’ Gus said.

The words pierced him, lodged somewhere in his gut and his throat. He couldn’t speak. Elliott had never met her, his grandparents hardly mentioned her, everyone else in the town didn’t say a thing. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken of her who actually knew her.

‘Nah,’ Alex said, automatically.

‘You don’t think so?’ Gus said, a fierce glint in his eye, stubbornness making his moustache shift. ‘She’d love that you were doing something that was helping people. She’d be proud of you.’

Alex craved the words. It almost made him dizzy, how much he wanted that to be true, even though she wasn’t there, no one could ask her. Gus couldn’t _know._ Alex just wanted it to be true.

‘I suppose I’ve said my piece,’ Gus said, leaning back. ‘I don’t really need personal training. I came to- To talk.’

‘Oh.’

‘You’ve taken up with that Elliott fellow. He doesn’t come by anymore.’

‘I didn’t tell him,’ Alex said, feeling weirdly defensive. ‘I didn’t tell him he couldn’t drink.’

‘It’s good that he doesn’t come by,’ Gus said. ‘He’s one of those that had problems the drink couldn’t fix. It’s all well and good if people drink for fun, to have a laugh, to dance or play pool. But Shane and the rest… Elliott could’ve gone down that path. Maybe was starting to.’

That was surprising. Elliott had already mostly stopped drinking by the time they started hooking up. He hadn’t gone to the Stardrop Saloon for months. He didn’t even mention it. But Alex knew Elliott could put away his alcohol, didn’t he? And Elliott talked all the time about bars and drinking on campus and other alcohol-focused pursuits back in the city.

‘You’ve done well by him,’ Gus said.

‘I’ve…’ Had he? ‘I’m not…’

‘You really have. It’s quite something to see a child grow up in this town. You never know how they’re going to turn out. Anyway, I’ll see myself out. You ever need to chat, or want to know a bit more about your mother or anything, just give me a call some time. I’ll come round.’

‘Okay,’ Alex said, beginning to stand only to sit when Gus waved him back down again. Gus walked out after a single wave, and Alex stared at the coffees, one full, one half gone. His grandparents wouldn’t be back for a while.

After a moment he got up, and gave Elliott a call.

*

Alex sat on his bedroom floor, leaning against his bed, an old music box beside him as he picked at the weathered rug beneath his feet. He heard Elliott open the front door and close it behind him, thought that an hour had passed, he didn’t really need this. He should probably get up and not look so pathetic about everything.

He didn’t move.

Elliott didn’t pause in the doorway. He didn’t hesitate before sitting down on the floor beside Alex, leaning back against Alex’s bed and placing his hand gently over Alex’s. Elliott’s hair looked particularly windswept today, but he said he didn’t like to tie it back, even if it meant he was forever brushing tangles out of it.

Nothing was said, and though Alex didn’t find it uncomfortable, he had things going through his head. Things he wanted to say, but felt weird saying.

‘Y’know I learned good sportsmanship from my dad?’ Alex said.

‘Did you?’ Elliott said, sounding curious, but not shocked. Not horrified.

‘He was stingy and mean the rest of the time, but he had a real sense of fairness and said it was an ugly thing, to be a sore loser or a sore winner. Worse, actually, to be a sore winner. So he kind of taught me how to be…good about all of that stuff.’

‘And so it turned out he was human after all,’ Elliott said quietly, almost to himself.

‘But if his team lost, he’d be down at the Saloon getting drunk and he’d come back and try not to put me in a hospital. Or mom. So I don’t really get it. His thing about sportsmanship. Because that seems like being a sore loser to me.’

Elliott lifted his hand from Alex’s, which felt like a hard chill that Alex couldn’t stomach. But then his arm slid heavily around Alex’s shoulders and neck. Elliott sighed, didn’t say anything.

‘My mom…’ Alex picked up the music box. ‘It’s like, one of the only things I have. From her. That survived him. He always broke her shit.’

‘It still works?’

‘She used to play it to help me sleep sometimes. I can’t listen to it much anymore. It got mixed up in everything else. When I was a kid, the tune would help me sleep, but it also reminded me of him in his worst moments. Cuz the day after, or the day after that, it was when she’d play it the most. And now it’s like all I have left, really, and it should only belong to her, and it doesn’t.’

Elliott didn’t say anything, but Alex didn’t think there was anything he could say. Sometimes he wished that Elliott would find the right words. He was a writer, wasn’t he? Why was he awkward in moments like these? Why didn’t he know exactly how to soothe? But Alex wanted this too. The arm around his shoulder, the way Elliott had come over and wouldn’t leave or laugh at him. It sometimes didn’t feel like enough, but it was also more than he’d ever had to help him face this shit, and maybe that was all there was to it.

After a while, Alex leaning his head on Elliott’s shoulder, he wound the little gear at the bottom of the music box and then opened it. The tune started off shaky and fast, then mellowed out to a lullaby he heard in his sleep sometimes. He was beyond crying when he heard it now, but god, he’d not been able to stop after Gus left. Stupid.

Alex let it go until the fixings and gears slowed, and the music tinkled to a halt.

‘I could learn to play that,’ Elliott said a few minutes later. ‘So could you.’

It had never occurred to him. Alex held the music box tightly, then put it down again, caressing his fingers across the top of it before laying his hand in his lap. He tried to imagine playing it in Elliott’s home, at his upright piano. He did have a good ear for music. He couldn’t read it – god no, that would be some kind of murder in slow motion – but he could pick up tunes. He didn’t know why he’d never thought of it before.

‘We could play it together sometimes,’ Elliott said. ‘Unless that’s too sentimental?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Me either,’ Elliott said. ‘That’s likely something we’re only going to learn by trying it. But it can wait.’

‘I miss her,’ Alex said, his voice cracking.

Elliott pulled him closer.

‘And I don’t know why,’ Alex continued, forcing himself to go on despite the roughness of his voice, ‘but I miss him too. I don’t even know what I miss. I _hate_ him. I hate what he turned our fucking lives into. I wish he’d come back so I could fucking _kill_ him and I still miss him.’

‘Oh, Alex.’

‘Is that stupid?’ Alex asked, not knowing what answer he wanted to hear.

‘Of course not,’ Elliott said. ‘But it must feel _awful_.’

That was it, Alex realised. That was what he wanted to hear. He closed his eyes and didn’t want to think about it, but couldn’t stop thinking about it. One of the things he liked least about meeting Elliott, was how much more this shit floated to surface now. He’d liked it better when it was sunk deep and he never had to look at it.

Every time he stumbled over some new and crappy thing, he thought back to that passage that Elliott had read him once, about wounded stones, the flotsam and jetsam that ended up on the shoreline. Elliott was like a storm in his life, tossing things onto the surface. It wasn’t always easy, and Alex wondered if he’d be happier not knowing all of this shit about himself, still convinced he was going to be picked up by a gridball scout if he just stayed fit and healthy.

He leaned harder into Elliott and decided that it might not be easier, these days, but he was happier all the same.

*

All at once, Elliott’s writing seemed to find its groove. He won a poetry competition, and first place had a fairly hefty amount of money associated with it, given it was only for a handful of lines. Then, one of his poems was commended in another more prestigious competition, with one of the judges welcoming Elliott’s return to the world of poetry.

‘The world of poetry,’ Alex said slowly.

‘It fancies itself to be much larger than it really is,’ Elliott said. ‘Sometimes I feel as though it’s only four people, and we all know each other and pat each other on the back in a very intimate circle jerk kind of way.’

‘Sounds like something you’d enjoy.’

‘It’s _very_ enjoyable,’ Elliott said, winking.

Pages – always facedown, the writing hidden until Elliott decided he wanted someone to read it – began to appear with increasing frequency. At first a single stack of poetry, then two, and then, from the density of the type imprint Alex could see through the paper, what looked like a novel. The great book that Elliott had always wanted to write, perhaps.

Alex didn’t ask about it, not for a few weeks, and then he couldn’t help but point at it and raise his eyebrows.

‘Ah,’ Elliott said. ‘I’m trying something.’

‘Like a great novel?’

‘Just a novel,’ Elliott said. ‘A rather mediocre one, in all likelihood.’

‘Says the guy who like, just won five hundred dollars for a _poem.’_

Elliott paused for a long time. For someone who was always willing to blow his own trumpet or toot his own horn or whatever, he was never quick to accept praise for his writing. When he’d won first prize in the competition, he’d simply said:

‘They must not have had a very competitive year, I suppose.’

It was kind of astounding, and Alex didn’t know the best way to deal with it. He’d tried arguing with Elliott about it, but there was always the fact that Alex wasn’t a professional writer or anything and Elliott tended to win arguments when he was stubborn enough. The only thing that seemed to help so far was continuing to say that he wanted to read what Elliott wrote, which wasn’t even a lie, because he did. Though he didn’t know how he’d go with a novel, but maybe he could get Elliott to read it to him.

Maybe he could read a page a night, and sleep off the headache – that would work.

‘What’s it about?’ Alex said, wondering what sort of things Elliott would put into a novel.

‘A love story,’ Elliott said. He pressed his fingers to his cheek, and then laughed. ‘It’s rather earnest, actually.’

‘Is it about us?’

‘Not exactly,’ Elliott said. ‘Perhaps inspired by us.’

‘Oh, I could totally write that story. ‘They fucked each other to death. The end.’’

‘Mm, a _short_ story,’ Elliott said, lifting an eyebrow.

‘I could be all Rococo about it, but that’s more your style, right?’

Elliott laughed, and Alex flushed, because he was still getting used to it – daring to use references that he wouldn’t have, only a few months ago. But the audiobooks were teaching him things, and while Alex didn’t always get the terms right, Elliott appreciated the attempt. There was something to be said for making fun of someone in a way that didn’t always involve swearing at them.

Alex lit a couple of candles and then lay down on Elliott’s bed, rearranging the pillows and cushions. He hadn’t officially moved into Elliott’s yet – he wasn’t sure if he wanted to while his grandparents were alive and still lived so close, they needed a lot of help around the house and he liked to make sure they were okay – but he stayed most nights of the week now. Elliott’s bed was large enough, and Alex really missed the sound of the sea and Elliott’s breathing when he was back at his grandparent’s house. There were mornings they woke up gently together, and mornings when Elliott would drag his nails cruelly down Alex’s back the moment he woke, and that would set the tone for the day.

Elliott was terrible at making scrambled eggs, but he loved them, and so Alex introduced him to the world of good scrambled eggs for breakfast, and also omelettes – Alex could make a kickass omelette – and then pancakes, because apparently Elliott had very little experience with proper home-cooked meals. It seemed like he ate out a lot with his parents as a kid, or ate a lot of tinned and processed foods. He caught fish and crabs now, and sometimes all he lived off was fresh seafood and raw vegetables and occasionally, if he felt like it, a stew that had so much garlic in it that the whole house would reek of it for days.

Alex wasn’t a baker like his grandma, but he was a whiz at breakfast foods. It wasn’t like Elliott’s little kitchen was equipped for anything fancy, but it could _cook_ things, and Alex liked getting to know that part of Elliott’s home. He knew it better than Elliott did. There was a nostalgia to it that he rarely mentioned. He’d made breakfast for his mom so many times when she was too sick or sore to move. Cereal, when he’d been too young to be reach the stovetop properly, and then later, eggs or beans. He’d bug his grandma for recipes, and surprise his mom with a hash, or ‘scrambled omelette.’

His grandma had been surprised that Alex knew how to cook so many things at such a young age, and then insisted that she do just about everything anyway. Sometimes he felt like his grandma was trying to make up for his childhood, which made him sad. Sometimes he felt like she was trying to make up for her daughter being gone. Somehow, it made them closer, though there were whole swathes of things they couldn’t talk about anymore.  

‘I didn’t used to think so much until I met you,’ Alex said from the bed, tracing patterns into it.

Elliott finished whatever he was typing, and stretched, looking over to Alex. He looked like he was about to say something meaningful, but then yawned so hugely it looked like his jaw was going to pop out.

‘When I first met you, I thought you were exactly as you appeared to be. But then we started sniping at each other – I can’t remember who started it, but-’

‘You started it,’ Alex said.

‘I’m quite certain I didn’t,’ Elliott said slowly. ‘I’m usually quite polite to people.’

‘Still,’ Alex said, smiling to himself. ‘Pretty sure it was you.’

Alex was actually sure that Elliott _didn’t_ start it. Alex had thought Elliott was a pretentious asshole – which he was, but _anyway_ – with no redeeming features, and a loser who didn’t deserve to act like he had his shit together, strutting around town like a fucking peacock. Alex absolutely started shit with Elliott. He had a bad habit of being rude to people until he got to know them.

‘ _Regardless,’_ Elliott said, giving Alex a _look,_ ‘once the insults started, it was like I could no longer ignore how much coming to Pelican Town had failed me. You were always there, reminding me it wasn’t working. I’ve always thought a great deal, about a lot of things, but there were so many issues I was avoiding. You wouldn’t let me. I used to dream about getting you underneath me, not just because I missed getting laid as often as I used to, but because I… Perhaps you’ve noticed, I have what I might call a fabulous mean streak.’

‘ _You?’_

Elliott laughed, rubbing his forehead as though he could soothe the tension away.

‘I wanted you,’ he said. ‘So much sooner than you wanted me. You never let me stay still. It’s something I’m talented at, you see. Thinking and talking as though I’m evolving and growing as a person, when I stay static, stagnating in the hollows of myself.’

‘Like that whole moving to Pelican Town thing which was meant to change your whole life, but you fucked that up.’

‘Initially, yes,’ Elliott said. ‘Not so much now, I find.’

He got up and walked over, shedding his jacket and draping it over his chair at the small table. He slipped his shoes off just before getting onto the bed, to avoid picking up beach sand from the floorboards. Then he was there, lying in front of Alex, propped up on one elbow and stroking his fingers over Alex’s throat. The touch was simple, but made it hard to concentrate, Alex acutely aware of the way his pulse pounded just beneath his jaw.

‘I used to think it would ruin my writing,’ Elliott said quietly.

‘What would?’

‘Happiness. Meeting someone to spend my days with. Whatever this is.’

Alex made a scoffing noise, and then ducked his head, because – hell – this wasn’t what he’d expected at all. It made his whole chest warm. A glow that reached out down his arms and thighs.

‘And you?’ Elliott said. ‘Is it so much worse to think more than you used to?’

‘Haven’t decided yet.’

‘I’ve never met someone as masterful at shutting down all brain function as you, so I’m sure if you decide you don’t like it, you’ll just revert back to your old ways.’

‘Fuck you,’ Alex said, laughing. Elliott touched fingers to Alex’s chin, lifted his head and kissed him. Elliott had a whole arsenal of kisses, from rough and brutal, to claiming and charming, to the gentleness he showed Alex now, like worship. Alex thought that for someone who spent his life learning words, he sure didn’t need them.

Eventually they pulled apart, settling down on the bed together, Alex stroking and petting Elliott’s hand where it rested between them.

‘Can I stay the night?’ Alex said.

‘You always ask. You know you can stay every night.’

‘I like to ask.’

‘One day you’ll just assume you have a right to it, as you do to my heart.’

‘God, Elliott, that’s so- Just… Fucking _really?_ Where do you find this shit? Did you watch like a hundred romance movies as a kid or something? Is this like, Jane Austen’s influence? You’re the worst.’

Elliott chuckled in that way that meant he was just baiting Alex to see what reaction he’d get. Alex was right, Elliott was still a pretentious asshole. It was buried down in the marrow of him. It’d never go away.

Alex never wanted it to.

*

The sound of the wind battering itself against the cottage woke Alex some time past midnight. Elliott slept soundly on, his hair spread haphazardly on the pillow, as well as across Alex’s shoulder and half across his face. Alex once woke with some of it in his mouth. It got everywhere.

He eased out of bed and walked to the window, drawing back the curtains and staring out into the cloudy black, listening to the sound of waves crashing upon the shore like they could shake the beach into submission. The cottage shuddered sometimes, though Alex knew not to be worried by that anymore. Elliott was always pretty aware of what needed repairing, and got Robin down to check the structure every few months or so. It was sturdy, like the plants growing outside. Alex couldn’t see them, but he looked after them almost every morning.

If he looked to Elliott’s typewriter, he’d see Elliott’s rose. It was still alive. His grandma took it sometimes, giving it more sheltered exposure and reviving it a little. She loved that thing like it was a child, and Alex had never seen two people talk more about a plant like it was an actual baby, than Elliott and his grandma when they both got going.

Another gust of wind, and the panes of glass rattled in the window. He placed his fingers against them, and felt how cold it was outside through the chill.

He turned to look at Elliott, who had already stretched an arm out to Alex’s side of the bed, like he was claiming it back, or maybe like he was looking for Alex.

Alex had never considered himself a soft or tender person. He used to think he was made of hard edges, that he was caustic and poisonous. But as he drew the curtains shut, he knew better. Once, he’d liked that they were both failures. He’d thought it was the only thing they’d had in common, besides the sex.

He took Elliott’s hand and shifted it gently, sliding back into bed, his body warmth still lingering in the mattress. Elliott’s fingers curled around his, and Alex smiled to himself, before shifting some of Elliott’s hair off the pillow, before turning it to get the cool side, and lay down, drawing the blankets back up again.

There was something about Elliott that was cracked through; a broken heart he never mentioned, or some other thing he didn’t have words for. Perhaps it was simply living through loss and never recovering, even though no one else except Alex knew it. Alex thought now that it wasn’t that they were failures, it was that they’d both faltered, been crushed by things in the past, learned how to stumble onwards again.

The sea spoke loudly, rhythmically, and the wind was an uneven metronome, irregularly throwing itself against the cottage. Elliott breathed a kind of deep sleep that Alex envied and cherished. He pressed closer to Elliott and placed a hand against his chest. Elliott called it alchemy. He called it pure, true gold. He called it love.

Their hearts were stronger than the gales outside, the winds that cut the night. Alex closed his eyes and smiled, soothed to sleep by the sea and the beat of a steady heart that anchored Alex back into himself.


End file.
